


Sand and Stone

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ben-Hassrath, Cole brings up the awkward truth, F/M, Inquisitor Backstory, Qun, Qunlat, Tal-Vashoth, Vashoth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring the experience of the female Qunari Inquisitor. Don't have a set direction in mind yet but I started playing a Qunari female recently and I was intrigued by her set-up. She's blunt, kind of rude, tells everyone they're weird and often asks Varric how he'd write all this shit. Also, she really likes breaking necks. </p><p>Underneath is someone untrained in controlling the Qunari blood haze and struggles deep down with her identity. She's lived among human, elves and dwarves her whole life--and been made to feel very, very different. On the other hand, Bull was a real Qunari, an exemplary Qunari. They have difficulty understanding each other. It is that path and story that interests me. </p><p>Especially because there is very little custom stuff for Qunari (so far) - a real missed opportunity to go in depth about the race with Iron Bull. (Not about the Qun--but about the Qunari themselves) I was really hoping for more custom work between Bull and a Qunari Inquisitor.</p><p>For folks that are into this kind of thing: Some screenshots of Nasha</p><p>http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/145135498375/inquisitor-nasha-adaar-part-two-tough-and</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Horns

“He was polite on the Storm Coast. I suppose it’s the same as always, just waiting to get hired and now he’s started in with the Tal-Vashoth shit. He’s got a contract now, right.”

Josephine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Yes, Lady Adaar.”

Nasha shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“I am sorry, my lady.”

“Don’t call me that—just Adaar is fine.”

Josephine was silent a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “You are the Herald of Andraste to the people. Whatever the truth is, Lady Adaar—you must have our unconditional respect and support. I imagine this is far more difficult for you than it is for any of us.”

“People don’t join the Inquisition because I’m some pretty human—they see me and they understand. So anyone that wants to join us, is just looking for power in some way. I’m not really the face any organization wants for themselves. So, good luck selling me to these people.”

“If I can assist you in any way….”

“It’s fine,” Nasha told the woman. “Don’t worry about it.”

Josephine searched her face, looking like she probably felt sorry for Nasha. The Qunari woman faced more criticism and fear than any other Inquisitor might have. Dwarves, humans and elves all had their bases of support in Thedas but the Qunari did not. She was Vashoth. She would never be accepted by real Qunari and any Qunari she ran into in Thedas was likely to be Tal-Vashoth. At least if she’d been male, Orlais and Fereldan would have feared her but also respected her robust strength. But because of the double-standard and the ideals of what a woman was supposed to look and be like—well….

Many of the Chantry members here in Haven called the Herald cruel names behind their hands. She made the men feel insecure just by her size, while the women looked at her with either pity or disdain. Nasha was large—not quite as big as Iron Bull but nearly. Her horns had been broken or sawed off. Josephine didn’t know which. Nasha had not offered the information and Josephine was afraid to ask. But they were unevenly broken. Her hair was a long mess. She kept it bound away from her face in a leather strap. She was covered in scars—but nowhere was so covered as her heart. Josephine had spoken to hundreds—thousands—of people in her life. This Qunari mercenary had the look of some veteran commanders. Tired. 

Josephine had hoped that she and Iron Bull could be friends, at least. It was easy to see how lonesome her position was going to be. But apparently Iron Bull had not been that receptive.

_Tal-Vashoth._

_You’re not a real Qunari._

_Tal-Vashoth are savages and butchers._

“If there’s nothing else, Lady Montilyet?” 

“No—I—I’m sorry to have kept you, Lady Adaar.” 

“Ha, yeah, cause I got so many appointments to keep, I suppose. Thanks.” Nasha stood up, ducking her head a little when she went through the doorway to head into the Chantry.

It was uncomfortable in the Chantry, with all the sisters and priests staring at her, constantly. She wandered out into Haven. Only Cassandra, Leliana and Varric didn’t seem to be that awkward around her. That was a relief, at least. Cassandra was powerful and tough. She respected the warrior and her strength. Leliana seemed to care more about deeds than looks—and she approved of Nasha’s tactics—even when they could be brutal. Varric was the really odd one. Dwarves were a strange sort on the surface. They were usually terrified of her. Varric didn’t give two fucks. That was a nice change of pace.

But not all, of course. Some people just considered her a kind of sexual novelty. Sera’s initial reaction might have been flattering—except that Nasha had seen that same look on many others who considered her little better than some beast that they wanted to try to tame. Of course, it usually wasn’t female elves who showed that desire but that hardly eased her suspicion. 

The graceful mage, Solas, gauged her uncertainly during their brief conversations. He seemed to be studying her, analyzing her. He hadn’t been sure what to say to her, at first. 

“I’ve had little contact with any Qunari,” Solas admitted quietly, leaning against a chest-high wall of stone. 

“Run into some apostates. They’re usually good people. Elves too.”

“Now, that is interesting,” said the mage. “You note them being apostates first, rather than elves.”

Nasha snorted. “Suppose it doesn’t do me much good to be racist, huh? When you look like a horned nightmare, I try to remember that race doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

“So magic does not frighten you.”

“Very little frightens me,” Nasha told him, crossing her arms.

“What about demons?”

She smiled sidelong at him. “Ones from the Fade or ones from Thedas?”

She expected him to recoil or back off or get angry but the elf’s head tilted slightly, examining her. He smiled faintly. “Demons and people are not so different.”

“They aren’t different at all. Demons are just civilized enough to look monstrous to let you know they're assholes,” she scowled. 

“I’m sorry,” Solas said. “I did not mean to offend. But—I find it interesting that the rogue Qunari is more accepting of spirits than most humans.”

“When you look like what your society considers ‘normal’, it’s easy to find stupid shit to be offended by. Demons die just like everyone else. Usually with less mess.”

“Do you believe that you’re Chosen?” Solas asked.

“It’d be nice if that was the case. But no. I don’t.”

“You are not Andrastian.”

She chuckled. “What gave it away?”

He smiled a little. “So, no Maker, no Qun, presumably no Elven gods or dwarven Stone. What _do_ you believe in?”

“Good weapon and coin. That’s about the only thing that doesn’t change. People change, the Gods change, the fights change—but a good weapon and money—those don’t change. Elves who were scared of me were still happy to take my shortswords when it meant protecting them.”

“You believe in nothing larger than yourself, then?”

She half-smiled. “No.”

“Then what of the Mark?”

“Bad luck on my part.” She sighed.

“It doesn’t interest you?”

“Oh, it’s interesting. I just know it’s gonna be a bigger pain in the ass than what it’s probably worth. I don’t mind if people notice me when I fight. That’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the only worth anyone has ever seen in me. But this? This whole clusterfuck will make everyone a lot of money, I imagine. A lot of power. And when its over—I’ll probably still be a mercenary and Thedas will remember only a Tal-Vashoth savage. Ha, I can only imagine how worked up Qun leaders are up north right now.”

“I imagine Iron Bull could tell us.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. The _real_ Qunari has made his opinion known. Word of advice to you and your people, Solas: don’t trust a Ben-Hassrath.”

“Would he not say the same of Tal-Vashoth?” He saw the flicker of anger that went over her face.

“I don’t kill people for disagreeing with me.”

“Unless you’re paid to?”

“That’s honest, at least. Ben-Hassrath will take you from your bed at night. Make you _quiet_. Or take you to the re-educators.”

“What are they like? These re-educators?”

“If you have sex for love, you go to the re-educators. They teach you that that’s wrong.” She raised her eyebrows. “That kind of sums them up in a horn for me.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Solas asked.

She did a slight double-take and laughed. “No. And I hope I never am. But that doesn’t mean other people should have it taken away.”

“Very true,” he said, watching her like he might an unknown potion bubbling in a pot.

“Hey, Tal-Vashoth” someone called and Iron Bull lumbered up to them.

“What do you want?”

“Cullen wants to talk to you, Tal-Vashoth.”

Solas saw it again, that flicker of irritation and anger. 

“It must burn you to have to come and speak to a Tal-Vashoth, Hissrad,” she said tersely and walked away.

Solas raised his eyebrows at Iron Bull.

The Qunari huffed. “She’s Tal-Vashoth. You don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure she even understands,” Solas said.

Iron Bull rolled his eyes and walked away.

 

 

 

Cullen, the handsome commander, looked her up and down with a critical eye. “I wanted to test your strength,” he said. “Iron Bull uses larger weapons but your shortswords must be made of strong stuff to be able to withstand the force you probably strike with. Have you ever splintered one?”

“Yes, a few times.”

“We may be able to send for obsidian or stormheart. Leliana is going to look for resources on that. Dragonbone will be preferable but we'll see what we can get. It will ensure we can outfit you with strong weapons. Your armor will be different—Josephine is hunting for specialists in Fereldan. There’s bound to be someone accustomed to tailoring and outfitting Qunari. The paint you wear on your face and head—it hardens into an enamel, right?”

“Yes. Turns tough and pliant.”

“Can it be used on other surfaces? Metals? Leathers?”

She looked thoughtful. “Wouldn’t trust it on cloth. Certain kinds of leathers, maybe. I don’t know which ones. Maybe dragon or brunto? Darkstalker, perhaps? I know the paint will adhere to certain metals—iron, bloodstone—these are more porous, I think—but it won’t to obsidian or steel. I don’t know about other metals. But if you want to try putting it on armor—best let me test it first. It’s toxic to everyone else.”

“I appreciate that,” Cullen said and it looked like he meant it. “I know this can’t be easy for you. But if there’s anything we can use to benefit our soldiers, I want to try it.”

She then took a greatsword he offered her. She could feel his soldiers watching, curious. He gestured to one of the training dummies and she lifted the sword high before slamming it into the dummy. It shattered, head and shoulder and wooden arm splintering off.

“Wow,” Cullen said, blinking. 

She planted the sword in the dirt. 

“Bow,” Cullen called over and then rolled his eyes when a recruit brought him a Fereldan short bow. “Really? Go get one of the longbows. Do you think she can use a short one?” He shook his head. “It will take the soldiers some time to get used to you. Most of them have never seen a Qunari before. And usually, the ones they do see, tend to be male.” He gestured forward when the recruit brought him a long bow. “This is yew, plated with obsidian.”

She took the bow. The soldiers around them stared as she drew back on the bow. It was easy, after all. She didn’t have beauty or smarts but she was strong. When she loosed, the arrow smashed into the straw target and into the dirt beyond.

Cullen looked thoughtful. “We’ll look into getting better materials. The yew would be too weak, I think. Could I have you write down any materials or weapons you prefer?”

Nasha hesitated. “Um. Yes. I…can work on that.”

Cullen gave her a funny look at the wording. 

She shook her head. “It’ll be fine.”

 

 

 

Nasha threw herself into combat. At least that hadn’t changed with everything else. Though the tools had changed. Suddenly she had well-made, brand new armor and shining new dirks made especially for her large hands. That was kind of nice. Usually it was a real bear trying to find armor and weapons that fit properly. 

The others, though, she wasn’t sure about. Blackwall didn’t really talk to her. Cassandra was respectful and helpful, as was Solas. But they all kept a careful distance. She missed her crew sometimes. At least with them, they were a mix of misfits. She didn’t feel like she had to tread carefully all the time. No one cared that she had no religion among the mercenaries but most people here seemed convinced she was going to start trying to convert people to the Qun. 

Strangely, Vivienne was the one who went out of her way to speak to Nasha. She hadn’t expected that. The gorgeous First Enchanter was poised, collected, intelligent and beautiful. Why would someone with all that privilege bother with Nasha? 

Of course, it was because she was the Herald. 

But at least Vivienne was honest about it. Vivienne was looking to have a guiding hand in all this shit. She wanted power. Nasha didn’t give a shit about their bullshit politics but at least if Vivienne was going to use the Inquisition—she was…..well. Friendly.

That was weird.

At a small inn one night, Vivienne came down from her room to politely request the Herald walk with her. Nasha was sitting alone again, quietly eating some soup and bread the innkeeper had offered her. Cassandra, Varric and Solas were chatting at another table. Iron Bull was drinking with Sera and Blackwall at the bar. So when courtly Vivienne went to the hulking, silent Herald, the rest all paused to watch.

Nasha felt their eyes, hating how they stared. She got up with a silent nod.

Outside, Vivienne walked next to her. “My dear,” she began, “I do not wish to offend you in any capacity so I hope you will forgive my boldness.”

Nasha looked sidelong at her.

“I noticed today that you asked a different person to read the road signs and map as we walked. It was a different person each time, so as not to seem too obvious but I’m afraid I pay attention far more than the others in that way. My dear, I do not doubt your intelligence and so I must ask: can you read?”

Nasha’s shoulders hunched. She looked away. “…..I can read Qunlat.”

Vivienne only nodded, seeming to pass no judgment. “But not the common tongue?”

Nasha glanced at her, glaring. “……no.”

“Did your parents not know it?”

“…..neither of them did before they came south. I learned Qunlat at home and a little of the common tongue in bits and pieces. But never fully until I joined the mercenaries I worked with. They all spoke the common tongue.”

“How long have you been a mercenary, darling?”

Nasha shifted uncomfortably. “Since I was thirteen.”

“Thirteen?” Vivienne repeated, eyes widening a little.

“When you look like me—nearly the size I am now—and a Qunari girl in the middle of dainty humans and elves and dwarves….there’s not really a place. For. Someone like me. The villages near our home didn’t trust us and we couldn’t really talk to them. My father drank away anything he earned. My mother smoked a lot of hash. They didn’t know how to live with choices. So I left.”

Vivienne was quiet for a long moment and then, gently, “My dear—“

“I don’t need anyone’s pity. I’m a big, awkward oxwoman; a cow with sharp teeth. Why do you care?”

Vivienne looked up at her. “You’ve been made to feel different your whole life. You will never be accepted by your own people and you will never be accepted by the people of Orlais or Fereldan. You began with nothing and built up your strength and took your reputation in your own hands. I respect that, my dear. But now you are the Herald of Andraste. Whether or not you believe it, doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even really matter if it’s true. You now have the opportunity to fill in gaps, if you should wish to do so.”

Nasha snickered. “What then, ask Iron Bull to teach the Tal-Vashoth he has nothing but contempt for?”

“My dear, teaching is not really his forte. I will inquire with Leliana.”

Nasha stopped walking, crossing her arms at the mage. “Why would you do that?”

“Because someone needs to look out for you, my dear. The nobility is a great beast, a savage horde of silks and feathers. But a beast, nonetheless. You must command their respect. You have lived your life by your own hand and worked for everything you had. And yet, you appear thoughtful. It is my obligation and concern that you have as many cards to play as you can. But to play cards, you need a deck. And you don’t have one. I will help you get it, my darling.”

Nasha eyed the human suspiciously and took a deep breath. “I…..I suppose.”

Vivienne thanked her and then turned to go back inside.

Nasha went down the hill from the inn to sit by the river. Fireflies flickered in and out around her, landing on her large hands and firm knees. Her whole life, she’d been made to feel like a big, clumsy weird…. _thing_. People treated her more like an animal than a person. The mercenaries hadn’t quite known what to make of her, at first. She’d pleaded with the Captain in broken common to let her leave with them. She didn’t know how to fight—but she could learn. He’d looked up at the huge young Qunari girl and saw a battering ram of a person, trying to find a place in the world. 

And now she was here…

This stupid Herald of Andraste business, closing rifts in the Veil, and everything else. It was hard not to feel all the eyes on her. It was very lonely, in a way. 

She huffed. No point in worrying too much now. If Vivienne was telling the truth—then she’d be crazy _not_ to take advantage of any learning she could. And soon, they would reach Redcliffe to speak with Grand Enchanter Fiona. Plenty of time for distraction then. 

She glared down at the Anchor, hating it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	2. The Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And worse, because he was Qunari—because he was bigger than her, stronger than her, using it to establish _dominance_ over her--it both enraged her and aroused her. Her blood was still hot and heavy in her veins. She pulled off her boots and gloves to wash to viscera off.

“You know what I really miss? Horn balm. My horns are so itchy,” Iron Bull grumbled, trying not to scratch around the edges of where his skin met his horns. 

Nasha glanced at him and then away, scowling to herself. She touched her satchel. 

“Maybe I can write to some friends in Kirkwall—we used to find that shit everywhere,” Varric said.

“Arg, something. Anything. So itchy.” 

“What about druffalo fat? Would that help?” Varric suggested.

“It might—there are a bunch of druffalo around Haven, right? We can go kill some. They won’t mind, right?”

Nasha huffed and stuffed her hand in her satchel, pulling out a small earthenware pot, lid clamped on with a metal latch. “Here, Hissrad.”

Iron Bull did a double-take, starting a glare—but then automatically reached out, snatching the pot from the air. He stared at it for a moment before he opened the latch and looked inside. 

“Works just as well on real Qunari horns as Tal-Vashoth.” She turned away, walking ahead of them and scowling to herself. So stupid. And why had she given it to him? Stupid. She was so stupid. 

But…itchy horns were seriously the _worst_. And if you scratched too much, the skin got red and inflamed and infected sometimes. It made your eyes burn if it got too bad. Iron Bull was another Qunari. He understood Horn Balm. At least for that. 

That didn’t really make her feel less stupid for giving it to him. But she wouldn’t have been able to help it, she supposed. He was of the Qun. She wasn’t. She could make the choice to help. He couldn’t.

Right?

She swore softly under her breath. 

“Does it bother you? Trying to find a connection when you know there isn’t one.” Solas had appeared at her side, walking next to her. He took two strides for every one of hers.

She huffed. “What do you think?”

“I know a little of what that’s like. To the Dalish, I am a _flat-ear_. They refuse to listen to the history I could tell them. Others call me _knife-ear_. For obvious reasons. You desire to help because you understand his pain—even if it’s something small. You should not turn away from that impulse, Herald.”

“I’ll hold you to that if we run into any Dalish,” she told him, giving him a sly, sidelong glance.

He smiled in that strange way he did. Like he knew something she didn’t. Or rather, knew something no one else did. It made the hair on the nape of her neck rise every time she saw it. 

“I understand that you are learning to read. If you like—I can gather some books for you.”

“If this is your attempt at an elaborate joke about cows reading or something—let me just go ahead and collapse it right now.”

Solas’ brow furrowed. “It was not. I do wish to help, Nasha. I understand that it will take time to earn your trust. I am willing to do so.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re kinda weird, Solas.”

He smiled. “So are you—but for those like ourselves, it means _interesting_.”

“Like ourselves? What—those of us who live outside the norms of our peoples?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s—“ She heard the whistling before she saw it. Whirling around, she grabbed Solas to her. The arrow slammed into the thick flesh of her back, followed by a hot flare of fire. She let go of Solas, spinning back around to protect him while he got his bearings, slamming her blades into a ripple of air. A shadow of another rogue attempting to sneak around her. She grabbed the man by his armor, snapping his neck with an effortless wrenching of his head. She dashed forward, slamming herself into a body, just another corpse as it hit the grass. A sack of meat and blood and bone and shit. The smell was familiar enough to be comforting—though she tried not to think of it that way. 

And then, just like that, it was over. The haze was slower to fade from her eyes than Iron Bull’s. He had more control of it than she did. But at least now she could just stand still for a few moments until the world stopped smelling blood-colored. She grunted out a breath and sheathed her short swords. When Nasha looked up, she caught Iron Bull watching her with a grim look on his face.

She bristled. “What? Waiting to see if I go savage, Hissrad?”

He didn’t answer, just watching her soberly as he returned his warhammer to his back. She scowled and turned away. “Solas?” She called over to the mage to make sure he was all right. She hadn’t checked on him before she dove into the fighting part.

He touched a hand to his chest and inclined his head to her. “Thank you, Nasha. I believe that arrow was meant for me. We should get it out of your back.”

Nasha looked over her shoulder. The arrow had punched into her pretty solidly. Luckily, Qunari skin was tough stuff. She hadn’t even noticed it, really. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you though.” 

“What if it’s barbed?” Sera called over. “It’ll rip you up.”

Nasha huffed. “I’ll _take care_ of it.” She stomped away.

Sera looked angry and hurt, crossing her arms. “What is her _problem_?”

“She’s a grumpy sort, Sera,” said Blackwall, consolingly.

“This may be out of the scope of your understanding, darling, but she’s used to doing things herself. You just steal things.”

“Who the piss are you talking to?” Sera snapped.

“Does it matter? Whether it’s Jennies or Wardens, darling—it’s mostly the same outcome.”

“Will you say that during the next Blight?” Blackwall growled at her.

Vivienne tittered. “I can handle darkspawn, my dear. Killing them is not a big secret. If your order chooses to make Wardens hear their own death knells so that they feel important, then that’s no one’s foolishness but their own. Martyrdom went out with Andraste.”

Cassandra put her shield down to interrupt before the three started arguing in earnest. “Blackwall—we’ll set up camp here tonight. Solas—do you still have the embrium and elfroot we gathered?”

“Yes, Seeker.”

“Give them to me.”

He handed over the herbs and Cassandra left the camp, following thick boot tracks. She found the Qunari woman by the river, snapping the shaft of the arrow so she could remove her jacket.

“We have herbs,” Cassandra said to announce herself.

“I can deal with it, Seeker.”

“I’ve no doubts,” Cassandra told her, taking hold of her shirt and helping her get it off over her broken horns. 

Nasha sat quietly for a moment, feeling Cassandra look over the wound. “I didn’t ask for any help.”

“I know you did not, Nasha. But I will give it regardless. Hold still.”

Nasha obeyed, snorting softly. She felt Cassandra take hold of the end of the shaft and pull it out. The human bound a poultice to the puncture and then helped her pull her shirt back over her head. Cassandra went to the water’s edge to clean her hands of blood. Nasha watched her. She cleared her throat when Cassandra stood up. “Uh. Thanks,” she said quietly, looking aside at the ground.

Cassandra nodded. “I believe the others may be finally coming around.”

Nasha looked at her and then down. “….oh. I guess that’s good?”

Cassandra half-smiled a little. “A strange feeling, I know.”

Nasha looked at the river, a little awkwardly. “Lots of fish here. I’ll bring some back.”

Cassandra nodded to her and turned away.

When the warrior reached the camp again, the others were sitting in a partial circle. Sera and Blackwall had resumed arguing with Vivienne. Solas took out a small canister.

“I thought you hated tea, Chuckles,” Varric said, gently putting another log on their fire.

“It is not tea.” He opened the canister.

“Is that coffee? Where’d you get that? No one’s brought coffee to Haven in months.”

Solas poured the ground beans into a small mesh trap. “I…received them. As a gift. And ground them up before we left.”

Varric smiled slyly, sensing prey. “A gift. From who, Chuckles?”

Solas huffed. “No one of import.”

“That he says no one important means that it’s only important to _him_ ,” Blackwall said, grinning. “Who is she?”

“No one—there isn’t anyone.”

“Is he flustered?” Sera asked, grinning. “Who is she? Someone from the refugee camp?”

“Nasha found a river that has fish so keep the dried beef covered up,” Cassandra interrupted.

“Oh, what kind?” Sera asked eagerly.

“I really prefer fish with lemon and garlic,” Vivienne said. “I don’t suppose anyone has any basil we might use instead?”

“It is the kind of fish that will not walk away and that is best seasoned with hunger,” Cassandra told them sternly. “So, everyone can help debone them.”

There was a little grumbling at that from Sera and Vivienne

Iron Bull glanced at Cassandra when the woman sat down on her pack. “I assume her wound wasn’t bad?”

“No. It was not.”

Iron Bull looked back at the fire, quietly. 

“I think Tiny is starting to feel a little guilty, guys.”

Iron Bull grunted at the dwarf. “Yeah. Maybe I—

“Oh! Oh!” Sera said, “A _little_ guilty. I see what you did there. Maybe Bull feels a _tiny_ bit of remorse.”

“Or a smidgeon of regret,” said Blackwall.

“A bitty sliver of doubt,” Sera added.

“Stop it.”

“A miniscule fragment of self-awareness,” Solas tacked on dryly.

Bull growled at him. 

“Your Qun will be a little upset,” he added, like a dash of salt.

“Why don’t we go back to discussing your coffee-bringer, Solas?”

“Why don’t you all stop _bickering_?” Cassandra snapped. “You all are giving me a headache.”

“Oh, shit,” Sera muttered to Blackwall. “Mum’s getting pissed off.”

“Best leave it,” he answered.

 

 

Nasha appeared an hour later, carrying several silver-glinting fish on a line. “Here. Found these—“

“Nasha!” 

The warning in Sera’s voice made her throw herself forward, whirling around. A rogue materialized in front of her. He stabbed in—so Nasha clobbered him with her line of fish. In a flash, she was on him, wrapping the wire around his throat, like a garland, and cinching it tight. It burst through his flesh, blood beading and then flooding out over the necklace of dead fish. 

The camp was suddenly teeming in Templars. One of them swung a hammer at her back, nailing her arrow wound with suspect accuracy. They must have seen her and followed her back. She swore, staggering. She dropped the fish and grabbed her knives. 

“Duck!” Iron Bull commanded. She did, without question and his own hammer smashed into the templar’s head. It burst, slopping brains and long dark hair onto the ground. 

Nasha slid around him, slamming her knives in a mage’s belly and then grabbing her by the hair and slashing her throat. It was strange, how she and Iron Bull moved so lightly around each other. How it was automatic that when she stabbed and flung a Templar—she threw it to him. And he smashed his collarbones into splinters. Another Templar grabbed Sera from behind, striking at her throat with a knife. Nasha flashed across the campfire and sunk her blades hilt-deep into the human. She whirled and threw him and he smashed into a tree. She followed.

He was the last one. He struggled to get up.

“We should question that one,” Cassandra said.

Nasha didn’t hear it. The forest smelled blood-colored. She grabbed the human by his throat and slammed him back into the tree. Over and over. Over and over again. Until his head was a destroyed ruin, smashed from the chin up. Only slivers of bone and blood remained. It was only natural, wasn’t it? To grab his arm and pull, twisting, _ripping_ , feeling the tendon and muscle separate and the bone crack and the templar’s entire arm tearing out of its socket, spurting blood everywhere. She grabbed for the other arm—

Iron Bull clamped onto her wrist. Her eyes flashed and she wrenched back. Anyone else would have been tossed away. But Iron Bull was not human, dwarf or elf. He held fast, with that strange somber look on his face. Her other fist curled up. “Let go, Hissrad,” she growled.

“He’s dead.”

“He almost killed Sera.”

“He’s _dead_.”

“Not dead enough.”

“That’s _enough_ , Tal-Vashoth.”

Something cracked through her gaze. She slammed her fist into his gut. He flinched and then savagely backhanded her. It wasn’t often she got to feel strikes that were harder than her own. Her eyes glazed over.

Cassandra grabbed Sera and pulled her away roughly when the Herald slammed into Iron Bull. The two Qunari held firm, staring at each other as each struggled for dominance. Bull’s arms were like tree trunks as he grabbed the Herald’s wrists again, pulling them away from each other. He could almost see the bloodlust flaring in her eyes, his greater strength _enraging_ her. And something else. Something else filtering into her eyes that was almost feral and wild. The fine line between violence and lust—

“Nasha,” he grunted firmly.

Her shoulders stiffened a little.

“Nasha,” he snapped again, shaking her a little.

Iron Bull saw the feral, wild look dissolve from her gaze. She sagged a little and he grabbed into her body armor to keep her on her feet. She pulled back from him like he’d burnt her. She couldn’t meet his eyes suddenly, looking away from him and from everyone else. Her hands were cold and shaking a little. She took several deep breaths.

Cassandra, Blackwall and Solas were standing in front of the others, weapons at ready in case they needed to separate the two Qunari. (Though vehemently hoping it wouldn’t come to that.)

Nasha looked at the corpse of the Templar, still weakly bubbling blood from his mangled armpit. She turned and walked away.

“Let her go,” Bull advised when Cassandra made to follow. “The nature of Qunari is savage. That’s why we have the Qun. It helps keep us in check.”

“So what keeps her in check?” Blackwall wanted to know.

“Nothing. Except herself. Her name, apparently.”

“Will she be all right?” Cassandra asked. “Is this a common problem for Qunari?”

“Common enough until we learn to control it. That’s where the Qun helps. But she doesn’t have that. She might have slips like this. Might be best to make sure I’m always with the group. She was going to destroy that corpse. Fine for out here—but if any of you had tried to stop her—she would have thrown you into the fire and not even realized it.”

“And probably broken an arm,” Blackwall said.

“If you were lucky, it would only be an arm. We Qunari are not known for holding back when our blood is up.”

“She killed that Templar with her fishing wire. Her _fishing wire_ ,” Sera exclaimed. “I can’t even—she’s _amazing_. Wow. Oh, I _have_ to tell Josephine about this. Do you think the fish is still all right to eat?”

 

 

Once again, Nasha found herself by the river. She stared at her hands. Fucking Hissrad. Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to _see_ that? She was just as much a savage as he claimed sometimes. It didn’t happen nearly as often as it used to but sometimes…

It was so rare for her to even run into other Qunari here in the south. She’d never actually had another Qunari to contend with before. Her mercenaries learned to stay away from her until she came down from the Haze on the infrequent occasions that it robbed her of her senses. Maybe with all this crazy Herald shit—she just hadn’t had her usual control. And worse, because he was Qunari—because he was bigger than her, stronger than her, using it to establish _dominance_ over her--it both enraged her and aroused her. Her blood was still hot and heavy in her veins. She pulled off her boots and gloves to wash to viscera off.

Standing waist-deep in the cold water seemed to help. 

“Who taught you to stay in control?”

Her shoulders hunched. She touched one of her knives but didn’t move, just looking over at the bank. The other Qunari stood there with his huge arms crossed. 

“No one,” she said, scowling.

“So you’ve learned this much control on your own?”

“Yes,” she growled. “If you’re just here to call me a savage again—fuck off.”

“I’m not,” he said calmly. “It’s impressive, the amount of control you have over the bloodlust. Our natures are volatile, we have to be held in check. For me, the Qun did that. But for you, _you_ do that. It’s an impressive display of raw will and self-control.”

She eyed him suspiciously. 

“I can help you learn.”

She scowled at him. “I don’t need _you_. And I don’t need the Qun. Or anything else from the _real_ Qunari.”

“Hmm, that really gets to you, doesn’t it? When I say _real_ Qunari? I take it you’ve heard it before.”

“Wow, pick that up on your own? Clearly, being a spy was a good choice for you.”

“Among other things.”

She rolled her eyes, turning her back to him to scrub blood off of her trousers. She heard the water ripple behind her and went very still. He walked up to her back. Iron Bull radiated heat like a blast furnace. Much like she did, she imagined. Or—tried very hard _not_ to imagine. “What are you doing?” she said tersely, not turning around.

He touched her shoulders. “You need to relax.”

“Very funny.” She tried to jerk away. 

His grip tightened. “I’m serious. If you lose control like that when I’m not around, you could hurt someone.”

“Maybe I’ll just hurt _you_ ,” she scowled.

“The difference is that I’ll _like_ it. They’ll end up with broken bones.” Iron Bull heard her take a quiet breath. He could feel how her muscle tensed, how she shifted—suddenly a little uncertain. “You’ve never really had other Qunari around, have you? Just your parents—who gave up without the Qun to tell them how to make decisions. You’re used to being the strongest person in any group. But in this one, you’re not. That goes to me. And that struggle for dominance will consume you, if you don’t take command of it.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “….and how do I do that?”

“Admitting you don’t know is a good first step,” Bull said quietly. “Self-awareness is key. It’s not always easy. You have it down pretty good. But there are still times, even for me, when I want to grab you by the back of your neck and pin you against a tree.”

She snorted softly, still glaring down at the water. “To kill me?”

His grip on her tightened. “No.”

Iron Bull felt her surprise, as every muscle in her became rock hard. He could just see how her eyes widened. “When you tore that guy’s arm out of his socket,” he said quietly, almost reverently, “I wanted to hold you down and feel you fight and make you _submit_. And when I grabbed you, I think you _wanted_ me to do it.”

Her shoulders curled in a little, feeling strange and uncertain again. 

“Qunari can be carnal and savage,” Iron Bull murmured in her ear. “That’s not always bad. We fascinate everyone else.”

She jerked away from him, not quite looking at him. He did not move after her, just watched her quietly.

For a long moment, both of them were silent. Crickets sang, fireflies fluttered around them, a toad bellowed across the water. 

“Wash the blood off,” he advised. “Clean up. A bath helps—afterwards—to cool the mind.”

She glanced up at him, nodding a little.

He turned and walked away.


	3. Hissrad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I….” she looked down at her heavy boots. “I…don’t think I understood what it meant to call you that. I thought I did. But….I didn’t.” She licked her upper lip. “I’m sorry, Iron Bull.”
> 
> \-------------

“What about Solas?”

Nasha burst out laughing. “No. Not so much.”

Solas looked up at her from his tin mug and lifted his eyebrows.

She grinned. “No offense, Solas. But I would _break_ you in half.”

He leaned back in his chair, placing his elbow on the back and netting his fingers together. “Really? You think so?”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t doubt your magic, Solas—but even as a Qunari rogue—I’m about as strong as a Templar. Hissrad is, like, three of me.”

“Yes, you have physical brute force but I might stop you just as easily with magic.”

“Of course you could, Solas. But this isn’t referring to _combat_.”

Solas stared at her for a moment and then seemed to realize what she meant. He cleared his throat. “Ah. I see.” He looked pointedly back at his coffee.

Varric and Nasha burst out laughing. 

“My Lady Herald!”

In a flash, Sera was up, arrow pointing at what appeared to be a scout. The scout instantly threw his hands up. 

“You one of Leliana’s people?” Nasha asked, standing up to tower over the scout. 

He quailed a little. “Yes, my lady. Sister Nightingale sent word ahead to Redcliffe—something strange is happening there. There have been strange disruptions—but not like the rifts. Something else.”

“Like what?” Solas asked. 

“They believe they are time distortions,” said the scout, finally lowering his arms when Sera unstrung her bow.

“ _Time_ distortions?” Vivienne asked incredulously. “Are you _certain_?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Guess we should pick up the pace,” Nasha said. “Blackwall, let’s get the tents down.”

“Why do you always ask me?”

“Because you always bitch about it,” Nasha told him, chuckling as she took out her map.

Blackwall blinked and looked at Sera.

She laughed and nodded. “You _do_ always bitch about it.”

 

 

 

Nasha hooked her elbow over the back of her chair. “You’re a long way from home, Vint.”

“As I hear tell, you’re not from Fereldan either,” Alexius said.

Nasha laughed. “Wow, what gave it away?”

He pretended to ignore that. “So, you all need to seal the Breach. And you need my mages to do it. What can you offer me in exchange?”

She chuckled. “Not dying? Is that a good start?” She leaned back to look at the others. “What do you guys say? Can I just tear his head off and be done with it?”

Iron Bull grinned. Solas pressed his lips together to suppress a smile.

Cassandra sighed. “You should at _least_ hear him out.”

“Okay, Alexius—tell _me_ why I shouldn’t just rip your head off. Right now.”

“You think you could?”

“People my size can be surprisingly quick. I’ve met enough Magisters to know that you can’t be trusted with thimbles, let alone a huge force of rebel mages and their leader that you appear to have acquired under mysterious circumstances.”

“Would you really want to make such a scene? Here. In public. With _civilians_ present?”

She narrowed her eyebrows at him, shoulders bristling.

“Let us discuss terms. Felix, come here. Bring ink and parchment.”

The young man, Felix, staggered out to them. He caught Nasha’s eye instantly as he weaved, stumbled and collapsed. She was up in a flash, catching the boy in her arms. He was so light, even under his body armor. And then she felt his fingertips cram something under her belt.

The Magister couldn’t seem to scramble fast enough to get to his son. And suddenly, the negotiations were over. 

Iron Bull stepped in front of her, watching the Magister fuss over his son. “What did he give you? I saw his hand move.”

“Thought he was going for a knife at first, yeah?” Sera said, popping up at Bull’s side.

She touched over her belt and slipped her fingers under it, withdrawing the note. “Come to the Chantry. You’re in danger.” She snorted. “Well, yeah. No dick, Donnen."

“Guess they missed the memo,” Sera chuckled. “Or. They thought we did. I mean. Whatever.”

“So mysterious,” Varric grinned.

“Let’s go find out. There’s still time to twist _someone’s_ head off. The day is young, guys.”

Redcliffe was packed to the brim with mages. And suddenly they all belonged to this Alexius character. And if Fiona hadn’t been at Val Royeaux, who the hell had they met there?

The Chantry had another Vint who introduced himself as Dorian Pavus. Another Vint.

Both of them eyed each other. 

“You know, I didn’t know what to say when I heard the rumors. I can hardly believe it and you’re standing right in front of me. A Qunari Herald of Andraste? What’s next! The Chantry must adore you, Herald.”

“You guessed it.”

“Are you a Tal-Vashoth as well?”

“Yes.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s perfect! That’s just _too_ good! Haha! Good woman. Bucking the establishment.”

“Well, my parents did. I’m just Vashoth—but most people use it interchangeably.”

“Like southerners when they call every Tevinter mage a Magister?” Dorian asked her.

“Yes. Sort of like that." She could help but smile. “I take it you _aren’t_ a magister? And you aren't soporati, I assume from your staff.”

“Altus. And how do _you_ , a Vashoth, know so much about Tevinter?” 

“I was in a mercenary company—we had a couple Vints. They were good people. An assassin and a mage.”

“An assassin,” Dorian said, eyebrows rising. “Interesting.”

“You should watch these pretty ones,” Bull grunted. “You can’t trust them.”

“Says the Ben-Hassrath spy,” Dorian said dryly. “Now—I know Alexius better than anyone, if you want to take him out—I can help you.”

“All right, Vint. Tell me what you got.”

 

 

Still, Dorian surprised her. He was most unlike every stereotype she’d ever heard about the Vints. And different still from every Vint she'd ever met. He had no fear of what he was. He wore it like armor. He proclaimed himself their ally and took her through time and it was definitely the weirdest thing to happen to her since getting the stupid Mark.

Except for maybe when a Tevinter mage said, “I’ll protect you.”

Weird. Most humans were so uneasy around her. Most mages especially. And Vints definitely (that whole war thing and all). But he said he was a _pariah_ , which seemed to be something actually rather similar to Tal-Vashoth. 

Going through time with him was pretty terrible, otherwise. Interesting, sure, but terrible. Definitely would be good on nightmare fuel for a little while. 

It was a little strange still, when she tried to reconcile in her head—that Hissrad would…well. Die like that. 

“Guess he’d see then that the Qun means shit, I suppose,” she reminded herself quietly. _Not for some fucking Tal-Vashoth._

Anyway, the whole thing was fucking stupid.

She grumbled as she walked around Haven. _Remember when a long day was like the Antivan coast in the fall, fighting pirates for seventeen hours to protect a small port from being overrun until the local lord could get his shit together?_

Now, a long day was fucking around through _time_. Fucking shit.

But now she had command of a private army of rebel mages. Governing themselves, of course, as allies—but not about to just cut them loose. She removed Fiona from play completely and told the mages to pick some leaders to rule by council. She left the politics to Josephine. 

It was a relief when Cullen could finally tell her they could go seal the Breach.

And if that just wasn’t a peachy-clean fucking cock up, then nothing was. Sure, the Breach was sealed and then a scrawny human who felt like how sleep smelled showed up to warn them belatedly that some big red asshole even uglier than _her_ had his sights set on Haven. 

“Hey Varric,” she said calmly, standing outside as flaming arrows struck the apothecary, “if you were writing this story, would you have these Red Templar asshats serve some mutant Elder bitch?”

Varric sounded thoughtful when he answered, “You know what? I really, really wouldn’t.”

“How about a dragon?” she asked when they went to protect the trebuchets.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Varric answered.

“I’m gonna _wear_ that dragon,” Iron Bull told the rest of them.

“Eat a dick, Hissrad. He’s mine.”

“Is she the only one who calls you by your Qun title?” Dorian asked.

“It’s Iron Bull,” said Iron Bull. 

“Ooh,” Dorian chuckled. “She’s _very_ Vashoth.”

“No, he’s _very_ Qunari.”

“Very Qunari?”

“Well, he informed me that I wasn’t a _real_ Qunari, so I figure I better call him by his _real_ name.”

“There is a _dragon_ up there. If anyone else feels like, I dunno, getting the piss back to the gates!” Sera interrupted hotly.

“Okay, Varric,” Nasha said as they later watched the scrawny human lead away Roderich. “If you were writing this—would a strange walking scarecrow show up and redeem the minor antagonist so that he seemed more like a person, rather than the embodiment of what we’re supposedly against?”

“I’ve done this. It’s cliché but if well-written, fans do respond to it.”

“Even the scarecrow part?”

Varric weighed his hands in the air. “Close. It was an Antivan Crow. But still—that’s close.”

“All right. I’ll accept that.”

 

 

 

What she _didn’t_ feel like accepting was this Corypheus’ lifting her into the air and start babbling about the stupid fucking Mark and power and how he was crazy and she was just getting more and more pissed off—but his grip….

His grip was like a vice. Like a dream, a nightmare. It didn’t even feel real. It felt…it felt….like everything in her blood was burning. Like she could fall into the Mark if she could just look at it. 

She _did_ tell him to fuck a goat before she kicked the last trebuchet wheel. But at least the Haze hadn’t taken over so much that she couldn’t turn around and run like fucking hell. 

Things weren’t clear after that. There was a lot of pain and wandering and it was very cold. The sky was black and grey and the snow was beautiful shards of death and ice. And everything inside of her felt slow and weak and stupid. She’d never felt so _cold_ before. Her fingers and toes felt like little clubs attached to her limbs, too heavy, too solid.

_I wonder how Varric would write this part._

And then someone called her name. 

She hadn’t even realized that she’d fallen onto her face in the snow. It was cold and dark and fighting the waves of warmth that she knew meant frostbite, knew that it meant she had to get up or she would freeze to death. But hadn’t she done enough? Couldn’t she get sleep instead?

She scowled in her head, sternly telling herself to get her fucking shit together and stop thinking like a little bitch. She tried to push herself up, wheezing in bitter cold air and then large palms grabbed onto her. It could have been a fucking bear for all she knew. It hardly mattered. The hands picked her up. She was on someone’s shoulder. It smelled like leather and blood and steel. It smelled blood-colored. Smelled like scratchy wool, oil and the faint coconut smell of horn balm.

_Hissrad?_

She was vaguely aware when they entered a tent, the large palms putting her down and gently pulling her hair out of the way. Her eyes were glazed and lost, feeling other hands, some movements and quick, harsh murmuring as various belts and fastenings and buckles were undone. Her clothes and armor were packed with ice. The tips of two fingers on her right hand and the tip of her right ear had turned black. Her left hand was fine, stinging and hot to the touch from the Mark.

“ _Astaarit_ ,” Iron Bull murmured to himself. He looked at Josephine. “She’ll live. Get furs. She was out there for hours.”

“Amazing.”

“Qunari are made of tough stuff,” Bull said. He helped strip her, methodically, paying no particular attention to her body at all. He reverted to the team mentality. It was just like patching up Dalish or Skinner or Krem. 

They covered the Herald with blankets and furs and Iron Bull hung around because heat practically rolled off of him, given his size and bulk. Solas and Vivienne came in later to do what they could with their magic.

Iron Bull left before the Herald could wake. That was for the best. He was starting to feel uncertain about calling her Tal-Vashoth. He’d fought Tal-Vashoth. They were savage animals. They butchered kids, Tamassarans, settlements of humans—they were monsters. They were like feral dogs.

But…she wasn’t. 

Did the Mark keep her from going savage? Or….or had some of the Tal-Vashoth he’d cleaned up just been desperate? That was an unpleasant thought. Not very Qun-friendly. He pushed it away and sat by his own fire with Krem. His lieutenant kept glancing at him. He could feel Krem wanting to ask something. He ignored it.

He looked up when the silly singing started. He could tell from Krem’s face that he knew the words but he did not sing them. Krem just scowled to himself. The Herald was finally standing on her feet, looking as nonplussed as he felt sometimes when the humans talked about their Chantry. 

The herald was probably an atheist. 

He blinked at his knees, realizing he didn’t know because he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t asked anyone to confirm either. Seems like that would be something important for the Ben-Hassrath to know. She made no claim to be Andrastian or Chantry or whatever. The humans were happy to give holy worth to her and she was smart enough not to argue with them about it—because she certainly didn’t know what the hell the Mark was. But did she have a religion? Did it matter? Well, stupid question. It didn’t matter to her or to him, really—but it would matter to others. The Qunari could always claim religious bias against her. They were treating her and the Inquisition very carefully.

Her influence was felt in all places….but nowhere more secretly than among the Qunari themselves. The young, in particular, asking questions before they knew not to. There was unrest. It was quiet. No riots. No one did anything. But the tension was there. Palpable. 

When Solas took them to Skyhold—well, Iron Bull immediately dug in to try and find out how he could have known about this place. Something wasn’t quite right with the quiet elven mage. Something about him was just… _wrong_. The things he said, his explanations for his incredible well of knowledge, his assumption that Iron Bull knew nothing about magic (he was Ben-Hassrath, why _wouldn’t_ they have had at least _some_ training in how to deal with magic?).

How was shit getting even _weirder_? Was that even fucking _possible_?

 _Yes_ , he thought to himself as he read the report twice over before folding it up again, _They want Alliance with the Inquisition. Yes, it can get weirder. Holy shit._

 

 

“Wow,” said Nasha. “You are _huge_. I mean. You’re the biggest human I’ve ever seen.” She put her hands on her hips, looking over the man, who was nearly eye-level with her. He was an Avvar, he’d said. “Are all Avvar big like you?”

“Many of us, lowlander,” said the man, who called himself Amund. He put his massive warhammer down and sized her up. “You are one of the Qunari—but not like him,” he said, nodding to Iron Bull. 

“I’m Tal-Vashoth—no connection to the Qun.”

That seemed to satisfy the huge human. He followed them from a distance after that. He didn’t seem interested in hindering their progress through the Fallow Mire, just in observing. 

The Mire was a miserable hunk of land, littered with the dead, snakes and mosquitoes. She’d heard Avvar lived in the mountains—what were they doing in a shithole like this? When she’d dealt with the Avvar chief’s son—by grabbing him by his throat and breaking his neck—they camped at the ruins. It was nice to build a big fire and dare any remaining Avvar to challenge them. None did, unfortunately. 

So Iron Bull took the opportunity to sit next to her. He expected the suspicious look she gave him. He didn’t really blame her for her continued hostility towards him—she was being smart. Wary. Not letting him get too close just because they were both Qunari. Krem told him that the Inquisitor came to talk to him often. She seemed to have no problem with Krem and it was through the lieutenant that Nasha found out everything she needed to about the Chargers. Krem had told him that she pointedly never asked about Iron Bull. She avoided any conversation that had to do with him. Which told Bull more than anything else. 

It told him that she had wanted a connection to someone or something. She’d probably wanted it to be him. But because he’d refused, she threw the wall up again, high and unbreachable. The others felt it, even if they didn’t quite understand. Solas talked with her anyway because he was always curious and stubborn. Her brusque manner didn’t seem to bother him. Cassandra was similar. Vivienne kind of surprised him in how openly polite and….almost friendly she was. But then….Vivienne treated him very politely as well. Was it out of fear, respect or both? Or manipulation?

Whatever it was, Nasha wasn’t sure how to deal with it. She was a mercenary—she had very little contact with, or reason to learn about, nobles. At least, not in any capacity besides: go here, kill something. So it _was_ kind of funny when Vivienne came up to her with a small satchel. 

“My darling, this bog is terrible. Your hair is tangled with weeds and grass. Stay still, won’t you?”

Nasha blinked at her, trying to turn her head to watch when Vivienne went behind her.

“Just relax, my dear.” Vivienne gently took Nasha’s white hair in her hands. “You have such beautiful hair—let’s at least pull it back, dear. It will help keep it from getting tangled.”

Nasha looked uncertain of how to respond to that comment. She’d probably never heard her hair was pretty in her whole life. 

“Iron Bull, what are you doing over here? It’s not often you come to sit with our Inquisitor.”

Nasha’s shoulders stiffened, face turning nearly bewildered. “Probably just doesn’t like the damp, Vivienne. It’s hot where he—“

“Actually, needed you to read this, boss.”

She did a slight double-take when he called her _boss_. He was making a conscious effort to use that more often than Tal-Vashoth. She didn’t respond well to that, after all (though, notably, only from him). 

He offered out the letter.

She took it and watched him while she unfolded it. She scanned the words—all in common, of course. She bristled again. She _hated_ it when he was around when she couldn’t do something. Nasha had been working hard on learning the common letters and words but she was still slow. She took out a charcoal pencil and a leather-bound book to begin to work out the letter, translating parts into Qunlat.

Iron Bull watched her for a few minutes. He glanced at Vivienne and then said, “Boss. I can read it.”

He _heard_ her scowl and she passed the letter back, glaring off into the bog. He read it to her out loud. Partway through, he felt her irritation fade and she turned her head to stare at him. 

“They want to ally with us? With me? A Tal-Vashoth?”

“It would be a big step. They’ve never allied with a foreign power before.”

She was still staring at him. “Are you fucking with me?”

He shook his head and pulled out something else, switching to Qunlat. “They also sent this. I haven’t told Red about it yet. Wanted to give you a chance to read it first.”

Nasha was certain Vivienne didn’t understand Qunlat and neither did the others at the fire, likely. She took the second letter he offered her. This one was in Qunlat. She read it slowly—pure Qunlat had some twists and turns that she’d never encountered as a Tal-Vashoth but she could parse the meaning. Qunlat had a surprising amount of metaphor for a people who needed constant constraints and rules. She read the letter twice before she managed to say, “….they would….give me a place there. At their court.”

“When this is all over,” said the Bull, still speaking Qunlat, like her. “They would offer you a place with us, to rejoin the Qun. Your status as Tal-Vashoth could be erased.”

She looked at him, something uncertain in her gaze. 

“To be accepted somewhere,” Cole said suddenly from where he was seated next to Solas. “To be accepted somewhere and not be looked at as _another_. A chance to be part of a whole. Instead of denied by everyone. There’s no acceptance here among the humans or elves or dwarves. And none from real Qunari. Would I feel normal? Would I be normal?”

She and Iron Bull both stared open-mouthed at Cole. “Wow,” she finally said. “Your…Qunlat is perfect, Cole.”

“That was weird,” Iron Bull said awkwardly. 

Nasha looked back down at the letter. “I don’t know much about the Qun, Hissrad.”

“They would make an exception for you and you would learn from the Triumvirate.”

She looked back down at the letter and then stood up. She opened her mouth, as if to make up some excuse to walk away—and then she didn’t. She just left the circle, carrying the letter with her. 

She read it again at the edge of the ruins. _Her Vashoth status can be indicated as the fault of her parents. She presents an opportunity to learn about the people of the South from an in-depth perspective as one who has always lived outside of it but still entrenched in it. Reports indicate that she has no family and no religious beliefs. We will offer the Vashoth a place among us. For one cast aside, to become one with the Qun is natural for one of our kind. The control over her savagery, as you described, is impressive but she will break eventually. And with her Mark, that makes her very dangerous to us._

“So….better to be under their control than outside of it?” she mused quietly. 

“Part of you wants that very much. Someone to help bear the burden.”

She jumped a little as Cole appeared at her elbow. “You are a strange kid, you know that?”

“You drive them away. You keep cool and distant. And hope they will do the same. The Iron Bull does not and he is confusing. Wanted so much to be accepted, but the sharp cuts cut craft in cutting through the carrion. Always felt big, out of place, never beautiful—the humans and elves and dwarves are so beautiful. They see a darkness, they see the nightmare, the horns-- _No, what are you doing? Stop! Stop! Let me go! No!_ ”

She stared at him, reaching up automatically and gently touching her horns where they’d been broken. 

“So much pain when you see them. Every time you see them. You remember. You feel the blade on your skin, cold. Skin was so hot, struggling as they held me down. As one grabbed my horn at the end and raised a hammer—”

“Stop!” she commanded sharply.

“You want to be free. Not another cage. Not binding, broken, or bought.”

 

 

 

The least she could do was try. Give them a chance. She didn’t have to go north to them, after all. She was agreeing to a military alliance—not a personal one. Not yet. So they traveled to the Storm Coast. The Chargers met them there. 

She was always happy to see them. She and Hissrad may not have gotten along so well but she liked the Chargers. Krem didn’t seem to mind at all—and served in an almost mediatory capacity between the two Qunari.

“Krem! Hey, I found this for you!” Nasha said, pulling open her pack and displaying a sheathed sword. “Avvar make but enchanted. It was the Chieftain’s son’s. Thought you might like it.”

“Wow! For me?” Krem asked, beaming and taking the blade to unsheathe it. “And here I thought the Chief was the only mother hen around here.” And then ducked when Nasha swatted at his head.

“I’ve never seen Avvar weapons!” said Dalish, crowding over to look.

“Here—I brought more from the Fallow Mire.” She gave them the sack, which had a variety of other weapons. Watching them look over the weapons, bright and smiling, made her think of her own crew.

Maybe it was just them being another merc team but…she couldn’t seem to help but feel protective of them. She’d been the same with her own crew. 

Tauren, a human mage from Tevinter. He’d escaped slavery. When she found him, she took him in. When the Vints came for him, she drew in a line in the dirt and dared them to cross it. Much to her satisfaction, they did. Breaking necks never got old.

Adahl, a former-Dalish elf. She was a rogue and she had a knack of traps and explosives. A set of casteless dwarven warrior twins: Duster and Isana. A mute Tal-Vashoth mage. He’d had his mouth sewn shut. He’d had no name when Shokrakar had found him and sliced his lips apart again. They called him Asaara. Shokrakar was the leader of the whole group, of course, which included other Tal-Vashoth—but those five had been Nasha’s.

Shokrakar was a brazen fireball. She had never made it well under the Qun and quietly, Nasha had always admired her fearlessness and brass. She’d met Shokrakar at sixteen after her original mercenary crew had been wiped out during a raid. She’d come across the crew seemingly at random, entering a crypt of some kind to get out of a raging thunderstorm. Tornadoes ripping up the plains and driving trees through stout human walls had her seeking shelter wherever she could get it. 

She’d been soaked to the bone, staggering down a set of stairs—until the floor collapsed. She landed in a heap of rubble and stone, right in the middle of their camp. They all jumped to the feet, of course, weapons at ready. But then Shokrakar had raised her hands to stay them. 

Nasha smiled a little. Her last letter from Shokrakar had been a pleased report of getting to fight demons for them. _You’re the best, Adaar._

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. The elven convert, Gatt, who tried flirting with Sera and Nasha had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t burst out laughing when Sera turned him down flat, led them to the signal point.

Gatt didn’t seem to know what to make of Nasha, scowling a little at her but otherwise respectful. Though the way he said _Hissrad_ soured something in her head. She didn’t like how he made it sound. It occurred to her, suddenly, that maybe she didn’t quite understand what she was doing every time she’d called Iron Bull _Hissrad_. It left her off-footed, feeling guilty but not sure why. 

At least until it became apparent that the Chargers were going to die. Nasha saw it immediately, outnumbered and trapped. They had a minute, perhaps two. She looked at Hissrad.

He looked back at her.

She saw something cut through his gaze. Something that disrupted the Qun in his face, the quiet acceptance shattered. 

He was…. _conflicted_. 

She looked at Gatt. The elf was glaring daggers at her. It made her want to break his neck. Her eyes jumped back to Iron Bull. “Call the retreat.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Gatt told him. “You’ll be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth for what? For this? For them? Would that really be worth it! Listen to yourself, Hissrad.”

“ _Don’t_ call him that,” Nasha spat, well aware of the irony. “His….his name is Iron Bull.”

She felt Bull’s eye on her, though she couldn’t make herself look at him. 

He called the retreat and Gatt was spitting with venom when they left. 

 

 

 

“Iron Bull…” she said quietly, walking up behind him. The others had made camp near the treeline. Iron Bull had left them immediately, sitting alone on a fallen tree by a stream for an hour before she went to find him. Nasha struggled to find any words for a moment. 

“You have never called me Iron Bull. You have always called me Hissrad,” he said quietly, still looking at the water.

“I….” she looked down at her heavy boots. “I…don’t think I understood what it meant to call you that. I thought I did. But….I didn’t.” She licked her upper lip. “I’m sorry, Iron Bull.”

He turned his head, looking up at her. He nodded and gestured beside him, inviting her to share his tree. Nasha walked over, seating herself beside him. 

“I’m Tal-Vashoth now.”

She studied his profile, suddenly seeing all the little pained lines that she’d ignored before. “….it’s…not so bad. No early mornings if you don't want them.”

That made him crack a smile. “They’ll come after me.”

She snorted, glancing down at his huge knee. “Wouldn’t be any fun if they didn’t.”

He looked at her again. “Boss…….Nasha,” he said instead, “….I should not have judged you.”

“I did the same to you, Iron Bull,” she said, glancing at the water, sparkling in the moonlight.

“But only after I did. You understand, right. Mercenaries. You loved your guys?”

She nodded a little. “They were…the family I never had.”

Iron Bull nodded. “Yeah…” he said quietly. “They would have kept their word, you know. Given you a place under the Qun.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t want it. I don’t need them to accept me.”

“You say that—but I can see how badly you want it. To be accepted by someone. By one of us.”

“I have—we have—the Inquisition now, Bull.”

“I guess that’s something,” he said. His tone was flat but his eyes were dark and troubled.

She braced herself. “And…we…have each other. Too. Shoths gotta stick together, right?”

He gave her that humorless half-smirk when he looked down at her. “Thanks, Nasha.” He raised a hand. She reflexively jerked her eyes over to follow it and he waited for her to relax again before he moved it. He patted her shoulder. 

She reached out slowly and touched his knee. She felt him shift a little, sliding his large palm down her spine and letting it rest on the small of her back. 

 

They watched the river flow on in silence as the moon made its trek across the sky.


	4. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He chuckled and grabbed her again, shoving her up against the wall. “You ever get tired of being in charge?”
> 
> She sneered at him. “No.”
> 
> He smiled, leaning into her. “Liar.”
> 
> “That’s _your_ name…” she spat, feeling the Haze creep into her eyes.
> 
> “Not anymore.”  
> \--------------------------

These Avaar really _were_ all huge, apparently. Movran the Under showed up to thank them for killing his stupid son. And also to throw a goat at the gates. Some tradition or something. She found herself more amused than insulted and went down to chat with him and his tribe that night. They’d be heading for Tevinter soon, which seemed to please the tribe greatly. Movran and some of the other men were as curious about her as she was about them. They’d never seen a Qunari before. 

She found she didn’t mind their curiosity so much. They didn’t think her some ghoulish beast—but something fierce and interesting. The other men conceded to Movran, of course, and he brought a dead wolf to the fire. He skinned it there and threw the meat in a pan to roast. Regular human males who were very insecure often found themselves posturing around her, but these Avvar did no such thing. 

“I’ll be sad to see you all go. You Avvar are really interesting.”

“Never met a Qunari. How strong are those horns?” asked Movran. He tongued his cheek as he watched her.

“How strong? They’re attached, I guess. You can stab people if they get too close.”

His eyebrows raised, eyes darkening. “How hard is it for you to break a man’s neck?”

She half-smirked. “Like cracking eggs, mostly.”

He bit into a chunk of wolf meat as he eyed her, not shy at all about offering her a tent to stay in that night. 

She leaned back against a rock, eyeing him. “All right, Avvar. Show me what you got.”

To his credit, he _was_ bigger than normal human males in several ways. But he lacked her stamina. She didn’t really mind though—he was fierce, there were no obligations and he seemed to like it when she hurt him. 

 

 

 

Varric met her down at the camps the next morning. She gnawed on some cold wolf meat as the Avvar packed up. She laughed and joked with them a little and then watched them leave en masse. The dwarf appeared at her side.

“I heard you spent the night down here.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Do these guys remind you of your mercenaries?”

“Yeah, in a lot of ways. And they’re _huge_!” She said, gesturing out to Varric. “I mean—for humans. That Movran was almost as tall as me. Even Cullen barely comes up to my shoulder.”

“Yeah, all the humans are right at that bosom-nuzzling height.”

She burst out laughing. “Bosom-nuzzling height? _Really_?”

“Better than dwarves. I think I could get a good look at your hip bones and that’s about it. Tiny calls it _sucking height_.”

“Oh wow, you’re right.” She told him, laughing helplessly at him and nearly choking on a chunk of wolf meat.

Varric sat down next to her on her rock, watching Inquisition soldiers clean up where the Avvar had camped—so that refugees could take the space. “So. Question.”

“Answer.”

“Do you know much about Qunari stories or literature? You knew the word 'antagonist.' Most people don’t know that one without some background education.” 

She looked sidelong at him and shrugged. “Yeah. I liked stories. My parents brought a few with them.” 

“What is _antagonist_ in Qunlat?”

Nasha looked thoughtful, putting her chin in her hand. “Well...it's. Hmm. It doesn't…really have one. Not in the same sense as the common tongue does. There's a word for hero and a word for not-hero. It's another form of the word, death. So you're either a hero or you're a dead not-hero that was probably a hero a long time ago but with no purpose, lived too long and went to ruin.”

“Really?” Varric asked. “I suppose that fits well within the Qun.”

“Bull might know more—but from what I know about Qunlat and their stories-- _kata_ is death. _Katari_ is one who brings death. That can sometimes be used for heroes _or_ villains. It depends on the context and any knowledge you’re supposed to have before you read about them. Or you’re supposed to decide for yourself if they’re noble or not.” 

“Duty isn’t always noble,” Varric said. “So good for villains and anti-heroes?”

“Yeah, exactly. _Ataash_ is the word for glory. _Ataashari_ can be a hero, one who brings glory. Or-- _astaari_ \--one who rises—though my parents told me it wasn’t so common to hear that one after the Qun came into being. The whole—someone rises above their station or some bullshit like that.”

Varric scratched out a few notes with a charcoal pencil.

She did a double-take. “What’s got your interest, all of a sudden, in Qunari literature? Going to write about us.”

“Not all of you. Probably you though.”

She laughed. “Can you leave out the part where I have to learn to read common?”

“Hey, people identify with those who struggle to rise above their station. You’re an inspiration, Nasha.”

She laughed. “You’re hilarious, Varric.”

“I’m serious. I know you don’t really hold with Andraste—or anyone else but you’ve become a huge symbol for people out there. And not just because you’re taller than most of them.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“I know you’re used to being treated like shit—but I think you’ll see the extent of both sides when we go to the Winter Palace.”

She sighed. “I’m so _not_ looking forward to that.”

“You and me both.”

Nasha crossed an ankle over her knee. “What’s the dwarvish word for lyrium?”

“ _Isana_ ,” Varric answered. “Why?”

“In Qunlat its _issala_. Means ‘dust’—but it refers to lyrium. I wonder if there are other similarities.”

Varric looked thoughtful. “Might be a question for Chuckles—he’d probably know something about that sort of shit.”

She smiled a little. “You know—he said it’s hard for people to find connections sometimes when they live outside the norms of their peoples—he was referring to himself. And to me. But…it kind of refers to all of us, really.”

Varric’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah. You’re right. Buttercup doesn’t give a shit about elves. Hero stays away from the other Wardens and apparently isn’t affected by the Calling—“

“Is that _weird_ or is that just me?”

“It’s weird,” Varric confirmed. “Sparkler left Tevinter. Seeker told the Order to piss off.”

“Iron Bull was living away from the Qun for years and now he’s Tal-Vashoth. Solas doesn’t really like other elves. Spends all his time in the fade. Cole is a spirit who…manifested a human form.”

“Holy shit,” Varric grunted.

“And you don’t care about dwarf-shit.”

“What about Lady Iron?”

Both of them were silent for a moment before looking at each other. 

“I’m….not really sure,” Nasha said.

“Lady Iron isn’t really known for her kindness. She plays the Game. That she went out of her way to be so kind to you is….strange.”

“She’s the same way to Bull.”

“Yeah,” Varric agreed, looking as puzzled as she felt. “She is.”

“Do you know anything about her personally?”

“Nope,” Varric admitted. “Besides her scary aptitude for the game—no one knows much about her before she became First Enchanter. The Seeker said she might be from Rivain originally. Parents were merchants.”

“Cole made a comment once about her never going hungry again.”

“Well, she _didn’t_ join the rest of the mages.”

“Oh, good point. So technically, it works. We _all_ live outside the norms of our people.”

“Norms are stupid,” Varric said.

She smiled. “Right? Fucking dumb.”

“I bet Sera could find out some stuff about Lady Iron.” The dwarf and the Qunari looked at each other. They nodded to each other. “I’ll look into it,” Varric said. “Probably not a good idea for you to poke around. Better to let them think you’re oblivious.”

“Makes sense to me, shortstack.”

 

 

 

“Darling, I have _just_ been speaking with Dagna. A cheery little terror, isn’t she? I’ve some ideas about your horns for the Winter Palace.”

Nasha stopped in the main hall as Vivienne approached. Iron Bull was trailing behind her, looking awkward. “My….horns?”

“Yes, my dear. We cannot help the prejudice of the court, however, we can use it against them. You and Iron Bull will be some of the first Qunari many of them have ever seen. The impression must be a good one. Robust, strong, commanding of respect—come, my dear.” She started walking away.

Nasha exchanged a look with Iron Bull. He shrugged so she followed Vivienne with him.

Vivienne sauntered into the forge, pulling some diagrams to herself. “Formal attire will come soon—Josephine found a magnificent tailor in Kirkwall to assist us. But for now, while we wait, these.” She showed them some of the drawings. “They’re ornamental cuffs, meant to sit on top of the horns like a shoe. We know that you are different, we can’t hide it. We must throw it up in their faces and show it off. Iron Bull will be easier—men will always wish they were as large and strong as he is. Gold inlaid with serault glass and rubies will make his horns glitter. But you, my dear—face a double-standard.” She moved some paper aside. “These designs are based around my own. The cuffs extend because your horns are broken unevenly. They’re silverite and drakenstone cuffs, connected with a net of garnets and black diamonds. It will complement the metallic tone of your skin and your red eyes. You will be exotic. Men want what they’ve never had. Women flock after Iron Bull merely because of his size. He makes them feel safe. You will make nobles want to be fierce and dangerous. To prove their strength—because noble men are simple and insecure—and they'll all want a chance at trying to work out the mystery that we will present at the ball.”

“The…mystery?”

Vivienne smiled up at her. “My dear—hardly anyone in the south meets a Qunari under good terms. They mock and hate you because they have only seen one side of the Qunari. We will show them another. The mystique of Tevinter without the blood magic and the noble strength of the Avvar, but more civilized. You will be dark, exotic, mystifying. You will make them question everything they thought they knew about Qunari.”

Nasha lifted her eyebrows uncertainly. “Uh….I will?”

Vivienne’s smile turned sly. “Yes. Appearances can do a great deal. You will see, my darling.” She looked over her shoulder. “Dagna, my dear, do come here. Please measure both of them. Length, width, diameter, radius—and follow these sets of plans.”

“Oh! I can enchant them too!” Dagna said brightly.

“Do that,” Vivienne said, turning her attention to the Qunari. “Now….Iron Bull…purple velvet, I think.” She ran her palm down his chest. He simply watched, looking bemused. “Gold silk, as well. Bear leather for accents…”

Nasha looked down at the designs for the horn cuffs. _Based on her own designs?_ Is that where she’d gotten the idea for her hat. Qunari horns? Something naturally fearsome to humans, elves and dwarves. She’d simply integrated it? But why even think of Qunari horns? Had she met other Qunari before? She said she supposed her parents were merchants. _So she didn’t know her parents well?_ Maybe during her time with them, they’d met Qunari?

“Now, you…will be the exotic jewel of the Inquisition.” Vivienne said, running a hand over her waist. “Tailors are fools, you’ve been fitted wrong. We will accentuate your waist, your height, your strength. Perhaps a little breast won’t hurt—but just a little.”

Nasha’s mouth thinned into a line awkwardly. 

Vivienne seemed to feel her uncertainty. “Trust me, dear.”

 

 

 

When Vivienne finally finished, the two Qunari left the forge. They both paused outside.

“Is she—“ Nasha started.

“So, about Vivienne—“ Iron Bull said, at the same time.

They looked at each other. Bull pointed towards her door and she nodded, leading him upstairs. In the Inquisitor’s room, Nasha closed some of the glass doors and rebuilt the fire. “Is she kind of…odd to us? Compared to everyone else?”

“Yeah. I wondered if it was just me,” Iron Bull said, sitting on the edge of her desk. 

“She’s kind of tall for a human—and her hats always have those horns…”

“Inspired by Qunari?”

“Why would she have even thought to use that though? Maybe she knew Qunari before she was locked in her Circle?” Nasha mused. “I mean—not that I dislike it. She’s…polite. Always looking out for you.”

“And you—only Josephine has taken an interest in this ball. I’ve seen these things the humans throw. They’re serious business. It’s stupid—but it’s serious. But even Josephine is only concerned about the politics. Vivienne takes an interest in how you’ll be treated and viewed. I mean, horn cuffs—I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“Me neither. I’m so used to them either being looked at with fear or disdain.”

“Disdain—because they’re broken?” Bull asked her.

“Yes.”

“How long were they before they were broken?”

Nasha reached up to touch the longer one. “This one was another six inches longer. The other was about a foot longer. They were pretty even before they were broken.”

“I’ve heard some Tal-Vashoth cut theirs off. Did you do that yourself?”

“No,” she said flatly. Her tone left no possibility of further inquiry. 

“Heard you had a good night last night,” Bull said instead, smirking.

She looked over at him from the fire place. “I’m glad one night was of interest when it’s thanks to you that the serving girls get their exercise.”

“Hey, I wasn’t saying it was bad. All women and men are tight enough for me. But finding someone big enough for you must be tough.”

Nasha crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“Besides, you make all the little humans and elves really insecure. Must be a real bitch.”

“Yes. As I have been reminded since I was very young. Men are either scared of me or want to kill me.”

“Well, clearly not all of them.”

Nasha scowled. “Is this your business for some reason, Iron Bull? There some reason that you’re so damn interested?”

He smirked and stood up. “Could be.”

“Fuck you,” she told him, glaring at him when he approached.

“Invitation?”

“What’s this shit all of a sudden? Because you’re Tal-Vashoth now, it’s okay to want to fuck me? I’m not such a filthy piece of shit now that you’re one too?” She glared up at him.

He watched her with his steady eye. “Can I blame it on letting go of the Qun?”

She snorted. “You let go of the Qun a long time ago. But now your security blanket is gone.”

“I could just be a savage.”

“You could. But you won’t.”

He eyed her. “How do you know?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t know the Qun and its demands. Turning savage—“

“You’d be fucking stupid to let that happen. Because I would happily kick the living shit out of you.”

That made him smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. All this bitching and moaning you do about you being Tal-Vashoth—I don’t feel a damn bit sorry for you. You know why? Because the Chargers are more important than some ancient written bullshit. Krem would fuck you up if you went savage. You want that happen? Would you have let him die for the fucking Qun? That's what a worthless piece of shit would do.”

“It almost sounds like you think I did a good thing.”

Her shoulders hunched. “You did.” She looked away into the fireplace. “You…made the right decision. You’re a good man—despite all the evidence to the contrary.”

She felt him approach, the scent of metal and blood and woodsmoke clung to him like a cologne. She gritted her teeth when she felt her abdomen tighten with a little flare of heat. 

“You would have been terrible under the Qun,” he said quietly, standing at her back.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she scowled.

“It was meant to be one.” 

Nasha narrowed her eyes and turned her face to look back at him suspiciously. Too late to stop him when his hand went up, cupping the side of her neck and forcing her to turn sharper. His hooked his thumb in the corner of her mouth and kissed her.

She jerked back, something bare and uncertain flashing across her face as she tried to step back. He held her to him, large palm still cupping her throat. His other hand went to her hip, pulling her around to face him. 

“Textbook,” Bull said. “Eyes dilated, breathing stilted, shoulders hunched defensively, faint trembling in the hands, a tightening in the muscle _here_ ,” he said, placing a palm over her abdomen.

“Textbook of what?” She jerked back from his palm and curled her hands into fists.

“Sexual attraction.”

She started in surprise, mouth falling open. “What?”

“Ben-Hassrath. I know these things.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He chuckled and grabbed her again, shoving her up against the wall. “You ever get tired of being in charge?”

She sneered at him. “No.”

He smiled, leaning into her. “Liar.”

“That’s _your_ name…” she spat, feeling the Haze creep into her eyes.

“Not anymore.” He grabbed a handful of her hair in his fist, holding her still to kiss her. He felt her take a sharp breath, muscle rippling under his palm. She grabbed into his harness to shove him away and he snatched her wrists, pining them over her head. He saw how her eyes darkened, the red brimming like blood. “You’re just as wound up as these humans sometimes. They learn to never say what they want or need.”

“Let me guess,” she said, smothering the slight catch in her voice with sarcasm. “You know because you’re Ben-Hassrath, right?”

“You got it,” he said.

“Fuck you—“ 

He whirled her around, pinning her up against the wall, chest pressing into her back. She growled, jerking her hand free and slamming her elbow into his chest. Or tried to. He released her hair to grab her arm, using both hands to pin both of hers to the stone. He chained her wrists with one hand again and slid the other over her hip.

“Bull,” she said sharply, an undercurrent of unease, uncertainty, flickering through her voice, choking off in a rough gasp when his palm dipped between her thighs. He growled in her ear, feeling the heat already burning between her thighs. He grabbed at her belt, palming it open and shoving his hand inside. She froze against the wall, screwing her eyes shut when his fingers touched her, sliding over hot, slick folds.

“You’re already wet,” he said. The smirk in his voice was infuriating. He caged her in with his body, massaging her folds, fingers skimming and then rubbing slow circles over the nub hidden there. He let go of her hands and grabbed her by the hair again, pulling her head roughly to the side and sinking his teeth into her shoulder. The sharp stab of pain, the intense pleasure, combining into something new and confusing and _burning_ through her. He worked her trousers down a short ways so he could glide his fingers farther back, pressing two inside of her straight away. He heard her bite back a groan, almost choking on it. Her struggle to keep control was fascinating. And unexpectedly hot.

Now, it was a game. Anything to make her break it.

He grinned against the back of her neck, letting go of her hair and letting his left hand drag her trousers down further. As often as he had little humans and elves and dwarfs…getting with a real Qunari woman was a privilege he was rarely afforded these days. She wasn’t afraid of some bruises. If he didn’t leave any—it would be as if he’d never been there. He kept her boxed in, pinned to the wall with his bulk while his hands went to his belt to open it, removing his cock. Many a small woman had looked at it with trepidation. She couldn't see it--but she could probably feel it. If she felt any fear—she didn’t show it. Her shoulders had curled in, leaning her forehead against the wall a little to try and force the Haze out of her eyes. Everything smelled blood-colored. But it was different, tinged with….with something else…

He nudged her thighs apart and a sharp, unexpected thrill shot up her spine like lightening. He pushed inside of her, rough, hard, filling her up in one swift stroke. She took in a shaky breath, hands finding the wall to brace herself. When he pulled out and snapped back inside of her, her body jerked, shoving back to meet him. He bit her again, rolling his hips into her, slowly at first (and attentive for any signs of unwanted pain). Her cheek pressed up against the cold stone but the nape of her neck was beaded with sweat. Bull was starting to lose focus, the Haze creeping up on him. He didn’t have to worry about hurting her…he would, naturally—but he didn’t have to as much. She wasn’t small or dainty or delicate. She was tough, strong and when she tightened around him, he growled into her ear. Her head fell back against his shoulder and he plunged into her deeper, harder. He shook her to the core and it, in turn, seemed to ignite him from the inside out. Her long fingers clawed into the stone wall. He sunk his teeth into her, harder this time and grunted. He felt her come apart, shaking out a small, rough sound as she seized around him. He followed, one hand sliding up roughly, curling around her throat. He groaned into her skin and then they both went still. She panted lightly against the wall until he shifted out of her. She swallowed hard and started to speak—but then he grabbed her up. Completely. Off the ground and everything. She heard him chuckle softly.

“Ha—take it you don’t get picked up much. How long has it been since you’ve been with a Qunari, Nasha?” He asked quietly, walking over to her bed and dropping her onto it.

She looked everywhere but at him.

He raised his eyebrows. “….you…. _have_ been with a Qunari before. Right?”

She scowled, shoulders hunching again. “As of about two minutes ago.”

“Oh shit,” he said, eyes going wide. “Seriously? I didn’t—shit. I am sorry. I should have warned you. I just—you’re Tal-Vashoth—I just assumed—“

“Been with others—not other Qunari. We have this tendency to be really standoffish and rude.”

“Well, that’s true. I just…” Iron Bull looked awkward for a moment, like he was floundering. He sat down on the edge of her blanket. He cleared his throat. “I…only thought—“

“Its fine,” she interrupted, if just to stop his stammering. “I mean—you’re…you’re fine.” She looked away. “It’s just sex, Bull.”

“Right…” he agreed. “Right. Okay, boss.”

She cleared her throat. “Well. This suddenly became awkward.”

“Right?” he agreed, chuckling. “We could do it again, if that would help?”

“Is there some kind of expectation with this?”

“No—I’m used to sex being very casual,” Iron Bull shrugged. 

“Ah. Okay. Right.” She told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “….so?”

“So get over here if you’re going to!” She grunted.

He grinned.

 

 


	5. Save the Empress!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull/Nasha - borderline BDSM
> 
> \-----------------------------------------  
> “You know that one of us is going to be shadowing you all night, right?” Iron Bull told her.
> 
> She sighed. “Not surprised. In case I spill some wine or punch out a noble.”
> 
> “Well, if I see you punch out a noble, I’ll just join in.”
> 
> “Thanks, I appreciate your support,” she snickered.
> 
> “Qunari solidarity,” he said and offered her his arm.   
> \--------------------------------------------

Vivienne and Josephine presented her with her clothes for the Winter Palace. Smokey black and red, inlaid with obsidian and black leather, Nasha was pleasantly surprised. She’d been expecting a dress—which she knew would make her look ridiculous in front of all the humans. Vivienne appeared to realize that as well. Waxed leather, double-stitched trousers and the long waistcoat would accentuate elegant lines (she had elegant lines?) up to her throat. Her grey skin dappled there with a net of rubies. The cuffs felt strange on her horns but Vivienne looked so utterly pleased with the result that she bore it quietly. 

It. Well. It _did_ look rather nice. Even if she didn’t quite recognize herself in the mirror. Even so, it was a relief to be out of the last fitting when she changed back into her regular wear. The Anchor was tingling again when she walked through Skyhold, peering at the golden-green curiously. It was strange if she looked at it for too long. Well, no, it was strange anyway. But when Nasha looked at it for a long time, she got this strange feeling in her head that she wasn’t alone. Or…she wasn’t alone in her head. Or something. 

She shook her hand out, trying to will it to shut up and—

And then it flared violently. She suppressed a cry, placing her back against the wall inbetween the main hall and the rotunda. The small hallway was dark and empty. She held her left hand tightly against her chest, staggering when pain shot up into her eyes. The rotunda was empty as well, thankfully. The burning spread through her hand, crawling up her arm. She crumbled, cursing aloud when her knees hit the floor. Her blood boiled at the intensity of the pain and being unable to stop it. She swore at it.

As if in spite, it spread, the burning flooding into her chest, choking her breath out of her. Her eyes swam, flushing hot. Bile bubbled up into her throat, seeping over her lips. 

“Damn it, you fucking…fuck… _shit_ …” She gritted her teeth.

“Inquisitor?” Someone called down from the mezzanine. 

And then the Mark flashed again, searing into her. Her eyes went wide and sightless. Her face hit the cold stone. 

 

 

 

When Nasha opened her eyes, it was cold. There was snow everywhere, blowing across a flat plateau. It was a large circle, hemmed in by mountains biting into the sky—

No….wait….

The sky was wrong. It was green and gold…like the Mark. It flexed like an aurora—only not. 

Through the snow, she saw two figures faintly. She put an arm over her face, walking towards them. They were both heavily cloaked and both appeared to have long, flowing hair. “Hey!”

They did not turn to look at her, ignoring her. The two separated and one walked away, holding something in her palm. It sparked into life, like a glowing eye—

( _Inquisitor?_ )

It shot something into the Mark-colored sky. It smelled like sulfur. Blood-colored, almost. Like the Haze. But not. But. Something. Something like—

( _Inquisitor!_ )

A dragon called above her. It landed between the two slender figures, closer to one of them. That one went to the beast and appeared to touch its enormous snout.

( _They opened the door and the sky came through!_ )

Solas appeared beside her in the snow. “Inquisitor!” He grabbed her shoulder. And then everything collapsed. The ground, the sky, the air, the dragon: it all collapsed and—

 

Her eyes opened again and tried to jerk up—but Solas grabbed her shoulder. “Peace, it’s all right.”

“What the _fuck_ happened!?” She demanded, taking in a wheezing breath. Leliana was standing behind Solas with Dorian. They must have heard her from the mezzanine. 

“You have the dreams. Sometimes you don’t remember. Mostly you don’t. Sometimes you do,” Cole said, sitting on his knees beside her and fidgeting with his gloves. He rocked back and forth gently. “I heard you. All the burning. And pain. You saw the door.”

“I didn’t see a door,” she said faintly. 

“A door with no lock, no key, no window. Burning into you like a hymn. You heard the song, the first verse but you knew the words.”

She blinked at the strange boy and looked down at her left hand. The Mark hummed and buzzed but no worse than normal. It was quiet. 

Vivienne entered the room. “Darling—are you all right? They’re saying you collapsed.”

Nasha tensed, looking away from them all awkwardly. “Er. It was—just the Mark.” She grabbed onto the wall to heave herself up. 

“Darling, you shouldn’t push yourself.” 

“Where did you go?” Dorian asked. “Something strange happened when you collapsed.”

“She was Dreaming,” Solas said. “I had to find her and wake her.”

“What _happened_?” She demanded again, sharper.

“You went into the Fade—seemingly by accident. You saw some sort of vision or memory. I felt the Mark flare and came upstairs to find you on the floor, unconscious. The Mark lets you dream with incredible focus. It’s remarkable—you not even a mage.”

“Was she possessed?” Vivienne asked, sweeping over to the Qunari and looking up into her face. When Nasha tried to look away, the woman grabbed her chin and turned her eyes back so she could study them. 

“I’m not possessed!” She declared.

“To be fair, that _is_ what a possessed person might say,” Dorian told her. 

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Cole said. “The Mark pulls you up, helps protect—but also hurts. They don’t understand. They just gossip. The spirits.”

She looked down at the boy. “…..they gossip?”

“I would not take the advice of a demon, my dear,” Vivienne said, shooting Cole a cool glance. 

She tried not to feel the twinge of pity that went through her when Cole looked away, as if he felt sad. Did he feel sad? He was a spirit or demon or _something_. But he’d never harmed any of them—even when he could have. Even when it would be so easy for him. He could choose to make them forget him, after all. It would be easy to stick a knife in their ribs while they slept. And he liked keeping watch when they camped—as he didn’t _seem_ to need sleep. They never did let him—not by himself—but it was the thought that counted, she supposed. 

She remembered that nice elven woman, Minaeve saying that people always feared what they didn’t understand. 

_Like me_ , she mused. People were terrified of her and Iron Bull because they just…didn’t understand. Maybe Cole was the same way. Blackwall, Vivienne, Sera and Cassandra were all wary and frightened of the spirit. Solas and Dorian weren’t. Solas seemed to have a deep understanding of spirits. Dorian, on the other hand, just found Cole to be an interesting oddity to learn about.

She shook herself. Her head felt fuzzy and heavy. 

“Nasha?” Leliana said. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

“I’m—I’m fine,” she grunted. 

“Be a dear and get the chair, Dorian,” Vivienne commanded.

“It’s not—I’m fine. Just a little fuzzy.”

Dorian pulled it over anyway and Cole looked up at her with those strange sad eyes until she sat down. 

Solas leaned against his worktable. “Do you feel nauseated?”

“Yes,” she answered, trying to shake herself again. 

“Fascinating,” Dorian said, crossing his arms and smiling. “Almost like it was real and she experienced motion sickness.”

“Wait. Wait. Okay, I know you said I was dreaming. I’ve had dreams before. But I’ve _never_ had a dream like _that_ ,” Nasha said. “It was…it was _so real_. I could feel the snow. I saw—there was a _dragon_.”

“A dragon?” Dorian asked. “Did it attack you? Were you seeing a reflection or a memory? Some dreamers have that ability, like Solas does.”

“No—it didn’t attack,” she said, agitation swelling up inside of her for some reason. “It just—it landed. There were—there were two people! And it was snowing. One of them walked away and then a dragon landed next to one of them.”

“We’ve seen many dragons lately, my dear. Perhaps it was just Corypheus’ beast on your mind,” Vivienne said, gently patting her large hand.

“It was the wrong color,” Cole said quietly.

Nasha looked at the boy again. He was staring right at her, _through_ her almost. Like he was seeing right into her head. 

“And there was no pain,” he told her.

Nasha peered at the boy, sitting up straighter. She studied Cole. “Can you….see other peoples’ dreams, Cole?”

The spirit looked down, rocking back and forth again and picking at his gloves. “You’re too bright mostly. Like birds against the sun. Dragonflies are. Secret in the fog. But when the dragon flies—I see you. I hear the whispers and the others tell me. Things.”

Nasha glanced passed Cole at Dorian. The Tevinter shrugged. Solas had no expression at all, save polite interest. Remarkable poker face, that one. The rest all looked as confused as she did. It made her think of Asaara. The Tal-Vashoth Saarabas. Even after they sliced his lips apart, he rarely spoke. So many years being without—he’d had to learn to use his lips again. He communicated things with a glance, a motion, writing things down sometimes. He’d always been a little odd—no doubt he’d endured terrible things under the Qun, given their terror of mages. But there was…a kindness in him too. Like he saw the good and bad in everyone around them. They’d all been protective of him. 

The door opened again and Iron Bull entered the rotunda. “Hey, heard something happened?”

“It’s just the Mark. It’s nothing.”

“Can’t show them weakness, they always used it to _hurt_ before. Can’t show it to _him_. He’ll _know_. He’s _Ben-Hassrath._ ”

“Aw, geez. C’mon, kid.” Nasha grunted and shoved herself to her feet, stalking out of the room. 

Iron Bull shifted on his feet. “Well. Don’t take it personally, Red. I’m sure she knows you’re a scary spy too.”

That made Leliana crack a smile.

“We should be prepared. If this happens at the Winter Palace, it will show a weakness to the whole court,” Vivienne told them, hands on her hips. “Someone should stay near her, just in case.”

“I suppose we should _all_ go. I had only intended for some of us to attend the Ball,” Leliana said. “But—we can have Cole, Sera, Blackwall, Cassandra and Varric hold off on going to the Emerald Graves to establish a camp. This will take priority.”

Iron Bull laughed. “None of them wanted to come. They’re gonna hate you for this.”

“Wait,” Dorian said. “We had an _option_ whether or not to go?”

Leliana shrugged. “Well, you don’t anymore.”

“Why was I chosen?”

“You know what these things are like,” Leliana said simply. “You, Vivienne, Solas—“

“In the Fade,” Solas said pointedly.

“—and myself and Josephine, of course. Iron Bull to show a solidarity with the Qunari Inquisitor. Cullen doesn’t want to come either. But he _is_.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, as if there’d been some discussion on the topic.

“Well, we’ll be busy. We’d best start. Iron Bull, my dear, please go and _collect_ the others. So that they can be fitted.” Vivienne smiled serenely.

Iron Bull cringed a little. She was _so_ Tamassran sometimes. It was spooky.

 

 

 

The Manor of Bold Horse was a sprawling palace. At least to Nasha, it was. It looked so fine and grand that when they finally arrived, she thought they’d come straight to the palace itself.   
The way Vivienne sniffed at the manor and said, “Well, I suppose it will do,” made her thankful that she hadn’t said her thought out loud. 

The manor was given over for their use by Grand Duke Gaspard. Final fittings were done over the next week with a small army of seamstresses and tailors that Josephine had produced from somewhere. 

Sera made a big deal of being grumpy while being fitted but she looked very fine in green and gold. Josephine kept the finery locked up when not being adjusted, in order to keep Sera from getting food on it. 

Cole was, probably, the most remarkable difference. Varric combed his hair for him and trimmed it. Nasha hadn’t realized how blue his eyes were—like aquamarines. Dorian was happy to join in, as Vivienne wanted little to do with the spirit. He had the tailors make him something in silver and dark blue. 

The dwarf and the mage stood back from the spirit to view their handiwork. 

“Wow,” Dorian said, looking pleased with himself.

“Right?” Varric said.

“Am I handsome?” Cole asked. “You say it so much Dorian, that you are handsome. I can’t tell.”

Solas, who was watching from a squashy chair, had to look down to suppress a smile. 

“You’re all right,” Dorian told him, beaming, as he adjusted a bundle of lace at Cole’s throat. “It helps, getting the hair out of your eyes and that huge hat off.”

“But….but I _like_ my hat…” Cole said uncertainly. 

“You can’t wear the hat to the Winter Palace,” Dorian told him.

“I dunno—we could make him a fancy leather blue one,” Iron Bull threw in.

“No,” Dorian said firmly. “No one will be able to see him! And besides,” Dorian smiled a little, in a brotherly sort of way, “it might do him some good to see how humans operate at events like this. So no hiding behind your hair or your hat at the ball.”

“What will I do with it then?”

“With what?”

“My hat.”

“Cole. The hat will stay here at the manor while we go to the ball.”

Cole looked crushed. “But what if my hat wants to _see_ it!”

“You’ll have to give it a glowing report, kid,” Varric told him, grinning.

“And what if some lovely lady asks you to dance, Cole?”

Cole looked uncertain. “…I…dancing is hard.”

“You don’t know how?”

“It’s…you have to dance with your heart as well as your feet.”

“And not accidentally poke around in anyone’s head, I suppose,” Dorian said, frowning. “Well, so…maybe no dancing. But still. No hat.”

“You know, if he accidentally says something helpful or poignant to someone on the dance floor, it’ll either get him slapped or he’ll suddenly have enraptured admirers who think he’s just very, very insightful,” Iron Bull told them. “They’ll think he cares about them or something. Which, hey—maybe he does. He wants to help. But that’s different from caring. Lonely people mistake one for the other.”

Solas netted his fingers together, observing the other four. “I must agree with Iron Bull. Cole does what is natural to him. But we should keep an eye on him. Or, Cole—don’t be afraid to make them forget you at the palace.”

“So out in the open,” Cole said uncertainly. “I can make them forget and look for the assassin.”

“Ah, good point,” Dorian agreed. “I forget that sometimes—because we remember him.”

Cole suddenly brightened. “That means no one will notice if I wear my hat!”

Varric burst out laughing. “All right, kid. We’ll bring your hat in the carriage.”

 

 

 

“All right, guys, I expect platonic dances from all of you tonight,” Nasha groused, poking at the net of gems between her horns. “You’re with the Inquisition—so everyone will be hassling you all for dances.”

“Have you ever danced before?” Dorian asked her, looking wonderful in extravagant black and gold.

She snorted. “Only within the last two weeks. This Inquisitor stuff—I like fighting demons better. Trying to learn how to dance with Leliana and Cullen—I mean, you see how tall I am? It’ll just be really awkward to dance with anyone besides you guys. I’m not really naturally graceful. Varric, I’ll get you a stool with wheels on it. Can’t imagine there will be too many other dwarves around. Or elves that aren’t servants. Do you dance much, Solas?”

The elf smiled a little, eyes going far away like they did sometimes. “When I was a younger elf, yes.”

“All right—so mission parameters,” Nasha said, “Find a petite little elf girl for Solas and if anyone sees a dwarf underfoot, grab her for Varric.”

“What about Sera?” Blackwall asked, grinning. 

“Piss on that,” Sera said. “I’m gonna eat and get really drunk. I ain’t dancing.”

“You better,” Nasha said. “If I have to, then you can too.”

 

 

 

Her advisors were all in red and gold, matching in a military cut that was more function than form. Josephine seemed to regret not being able to wear a pretty gown. Leliana and Cullen didn’t seem to care.

All the way to Val Royeaux, Vivienne had been testing her with little bits of conversation. How to act and respond and ask questions to appear interested—even if she wasn’t. How to deal with the inevitable prejudice that would be thrown her way—Nasha could hardly wait for the night to just be over.

“You know that one of us is going to be shadowing you all night, right?” Iron Bull told her.

She sighed. “Not surprised. In case I spill some wine or punch out a noble.”

“Well, if I see you punch out a noble, I’ll just join in.”

“Thanks, I appreciate your support,” she snickered.

“Qunari solidarity,” he said and offered her his arm. 

 

 

Nasha knew she was watched all day, every day, at Skyhold. But she’d never felt so exposed as she did at the Winter Palace. From the moment she exited the Manor of Bold Horse, with a full armed escort of both Inquisition troops and a royal honor guard from the Duke, she felt all the eyes on her. Hundreds of eyes from every direction. All judging and peering and viewing this Qunari savage in their midst. She was good at playing things cool under pressure as a mercenary so she could at least keep her poker face. It was easier when Dorian and Vivienne joined her. These two were birds of a feather in a familiar arena. Vivienne introduced her flawlessly, elegantly and watched in satisfaction as the nobles clamored around the Inquisitor. 

“Mark my words,” Vivienne said quietly, “The noble ladies of Orlais will all be ordering horned hats before the night is over.”

Nasha glanced sidelong at Vivienne, who was wearing her own horned hat. “You think so?”

“Darling, you keep up tonight and you might change the view of Qunari for the better in one fashionable stroke.”

 

 

Iron Bull had a herd of ladies who wished to dance with him. He met Nasha’s eyes over one blond’s head. She nodded in approval, grinning at him. When he disappeared with her, Nasha just laughed. Oh, how Shokrakar would laugh at her if she could see her now. Nasha could hardly believe it and she was fucking _here_.

The looks were still strange and there were a few murmured insults but with all the masks—it wasn’t as obvious and she just worked on ignoring it. And also drinking. Drinking definitely helped.

Of course, all the shit still went down. They were here for an assassin, after all. One advantage was that the human nobles were overwhelmed and nervous around her. She was intimidating. She spoke politely and clearly, with intelligence. As the elf, Briala told her bluntly, most in Val Royeaux assumed she would barely be capable of speech. Yet, here she was, playing the Game. The nobles had no idea what to do with her. The Empress kept her composure and Gaspard had been prepared. But his sister, Florianne, wasn’t. 

Thankfully, when the Dutchess demanded a dance (likely intended to make the _oxwoman_ look clumsy and foolish), her fighting muscles took over and gave her enough grace to get through the ordeal. She was definitely ready to crack some skulls afterwards, though. Trying to fight back irritation, annoyance, everything in her wanting to burst out and just smash these nobles’ heads together was more difficult than she anticipated. In these stupid fancy clothes, she felt like she was bursting at the seams. It was a relief to go chasing after Tevinter villains. 

Iron Bull came with her the third time she disappeared, following her out. 

“Hey, blood won’t look so good on that fancy shit—grabbed your armor and weapons.”

“Ah, you’re the best, Bull. Where’s that blond?”

“Too many clothes,” Iron Bull grunted. “And I’m starting to get agitated.”

“Oh good. Glad it’s not just me.”

“Yeah, we don’t do so well being contained for long periods of time like this.”

“Did you see Cole?” she asked, pulling off the waistcoat. “He somehow got his hat in here. Even after Varric hid it from him.”

Bull laughed. “He’s like, fuck it—I’m a demon, I do what I want.”

“Right?” She agreed, pulling her tunic on to protect the flimsy silk shirt from any blood splatter. “Or Solas—I talked to him earlier. Talking about how he’s missed all the secrecy and backstabbing and sex—“

“What!” Iron Bull burst out laughing. 

“Isn’t that _weird_? He’s not as straight-laced as he plays, I don’t think.”

“You know, Blackwall asked him if he ever messed around in the Fade. Solas said it attracted the attention of demons. Sounds to me like maybe he learned that on his own.”

The two Qunari had to stop for a moment, trying to keep their laughter quiet. 

“We’re passed the point of no return. Let’s start stealing stuff,” Iron Bull suggested as they searched the royal wing.

“Not yet—this is like an epic scavenger hunt with a Sudden Death penalty. Let’s put Briala in charge.”

“Okay,” Bull said, shrugging his massive shoulders. 

“Ah, fuck it. Let’s loot the place too.”

Iron Bull burst out laughing again and grinned at her. Apparently drink and blood was enough to just push the two Qunari passed caring about this stupid shit. She dashed into a room, butchering the guards. 

“What! Venatori! Oh, this is _perfect_ ,” Nasha said, searching their pockets. “Now we can _definitely_ murder everyone!”

So they did. Even when Florianne revealed herself and then walked away like it was all said and done. 

They had to hurry. She knew she had to hurry. It should matter more, right? She stopped in the half-destroyed wing of the palace to take her pack from Iron Bull so she could change back into the stupid fancy clothes. But halfway out of her body armor, he grabbed her by the hips and pushed her up against the wall. 

“We’ve got an empress to save,” she told him, raising her eyebrows. 

He grinned. “Can I mess up your hair?”

“Fuck no! Vivienne will kill me.”

“All right,” Bull sighed and rolled his shoulders. He pulled her body armor off the rest of the way. “You know, that flimsy silk doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“So don’t imagine it.” She wasn’t sure if that was the blood haze talking or sensibility. 

But he grabbed her and pushed his hands into her clothes, holding her still to stroke her between her thighs up against the dusty wall. 

“You better hurry and let go,” Bull growled at her. “We have to save the Empress, right?”

She couldn’t seem to help but laugh, shuddering and leaning back to let release crest over her. She grabbed onto his arms to steady herself.

“That’s better,” Bull told her. “Now. Save the Empress?”

“Let’s save the fucking Empress,” Nasha agreed, pulling on the waistcoast. She and Iron Bull sprinted back to the ballroom, where they met up with Dorian and Cassandra (looking regal in green and silver). 

 

Within twenty minutes, Florianne was sporting an impressive black eye and fractured jaw. Briala was now a marquis and Gaspard was probably about to get his head cut off. 

Oh. And they were taking a witch called Morrigan back to Skyhold with them. 

The party continued afterwards, though Leliana decided everyone was leaving before Nasha and Iron Bull got too drunk to get back to the manor. They both kept laughing and declaring _Save the Empress!_ like some kind of catch phrase.

Cole managed a pretty turn of dancing with a minor princess from Nevarra who told him that she liked his hat, apparently. And then tried to urge him to go with her somewhere, to which Dorian interrupted and led the spirit away before his night could take a weirder turn.

So it was a loud, exuberant rabble that paraded back to the Bold Horse. Sera threw open the front door and yelled, “Come on, losers! We’re saving the Empress!”

“We already did!” Cassandra reminded her, grumbling.

“We need more spicy punch!” Dorian announced. “And I brought a great deal of hash to smoke with all of you!”

Cullen waved a hand at them all and shook his head. “Go to the other wing, at least. I’m going to bed.”

“Cullen,” Nasha said, very seriously. “We saved the Empress.”

“Yes. And now I’m going to bed.”

“Any chance we could save Cullen?” Dorian asked.

Nasha burst out laughing. Cullen rolled his eyes and escaped.

It took them all a couple hours to quiet down. Dorian had finally passed out on a couch in front of the fire place. Sera was slumped next to him, drooling a little on his trouser leg. Leliana watched them, Dorian’s hash pipe in hand as she smoked.

Nasha shoved Iron Bull into his room. He grabbed her by the shirt and jerked her after him. What she didn’t expect was, when he shoved her up against the wall, he leaned in and said, quietly, “How much can I hurt you?”

She blinked, a little startled. “Uh—what?”

He got a dark, predatory look on his face. “I know what you need, boss. You trust me?”

“Not particularly,” she said, laughing.

“Liar.”

“Then start and I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Given his question, she was rather expecting him to attack her or something. But he didn’t. He became rather quiet. Almost pensive, as he helped her get out of her fancy clothes and gently removed the net of gems and cuffs from her horns. 

“Vivienne was right, you know. The purple and gold—looks good. The eyepatch was a nice touch. Gold and lyrium, yeah?”

Bull took off the jacket. “It better—had a lot of people wanting to dance tonight.”

“In more ways than one?” She grinned.

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

“Krem will be so proud of you.”

That made him laugh as he went to his pack and pulled out a long coil of thick rope. “Usually, I can just hold a woman down—but you present more of a challenge.”

She stared at the rope and then at him. “You…know what you’re doing with that?”

“Under the Qun, sex isn’t about love—it’s about control, passion—it gives us an outlet for all the pent up rage and aggression that constantly threatens to consume us. Tamassarans know a lot about this kind of thing. All the Ben-Hassrath learn. So yes, I know what I’m doing. I will never hurt you without your permission. You will be safe with me. If you ever want me to stop—you say _katoh_ and that’s it. We stop. No questions asked.”

_Holy shit. He’s serious._

She stared at him, not a little stunned. “Why do the Ben-Hassrath learn? Manipulation?”

“Yes—manipulate your targets, give them what they want, then you crush them. But it doesn’t have to be used for only that. Sometimes, you don’t know what you want. So you get what you _need_ instead.”

She swallowed a little. “Ah. Haha. So. What do I _need_ , exactly?”

He studied her with his eye. “You need someone who can challenge you physically and mentally. I’m the only one here capable of both. You’re afraid of other Qunari. You _know_ that Tal-Vashoth can be vicious and cruel.”

“Afraid? Don't flatter yourself. I’m not afraid,” she said, with a little scowl. 

“Your mercenary group. It’s big and it’s a mix of races. There are, at least, eight other Tal-Vashoth in your group. You don’t work closely with any of them. Except for the mute Saarabas, who’s probably too fucked in the head to actually harm you. You kept anyone more physically robust than yourself out of your main group. Why is that?”

She bristled. 

“Who broke your horns?”

And there it was, Iron Bull mused to himself. He watched her eyes harden, starting to pull away. He grabbed her arm. “You don’t really consider yourself Tal-Vashoth, do you? You go along with it because everyone calls you that. You don’t like regular Qunari, you don’t like Tal-Vashoth. Both have tried to control you in the past?”

“Let go,” she commanded, eyes smoldering now, angry.

He didn’t. His grip tightened. “What happened to your horns?”

She growled at him. “Fuck _off_.”

He grabbed her by the throat and she reflexively clocked him in the jaw. He merely shook the blow off and shoved her down onto the bed. She lunged up—and he grabbed her. Their hands locked, fury rising, fighting for control. He could see it, rising in her eyes. The blood haze was so quick to wake up inside her head. It let him know he was on the right track. 

“Was it one of the Tal-Vashoth in your company?” He asked her.

“Fuck you.” She slammed her heel into his knee and rolled them over when his leg collapsed. She still was fighting to get her hands away from him. As soon as she did, she was going to get her knife and gut this son of a bitch. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid Ben-Hassrath spy bullshit. She locked her thighs around his to keep him from flipping them again. 

“You gonna try to hurt me, Nasha?”

“I’m gonna fucking gut you,” she snarled.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said and sat up sharply, stealing leverage from her. “But first, you’re gonna answer my question.” 

“Eat a dick,” she snapped.

He couldn’t lunge forward with his legs trapped, her lower body strength was a rival to his upper body strength. He put it to use, overpowering her arms and forcing her to lie back. She fought it tooth and nail, sinking slowly, eyes blood-red and fogged with rage. Then he flipped her off of him, grabbing her, dragging her to him and holding her down. She fought him, fingernails digging into him, cursing him.

Bull caged her in with his body. His left hand grabbed her horn, his right forced its way underneath her, pushing down into her trousers to find her wet and throbbing. She grunted, growling. She tried to buck him off when he stroked her but his other hand held tighter to her horn, controlling her head movement. “Who broke your horns?”

She bit into the blankets. “I hate you. I fucking hate you!” She spat.

“I know,” he said gently. “It’s all right.”

He felt her shudder when he slid a finger inside of her. She was so hot and slick. He breathed harder on the back of her neck. “So maybe not Tal-Vashoth? A regular Qunari? Or someone inbetween,” he said in her ear.

He felt her try to push herself up, so he leaned his weight on her to force her back down. “Do they make you think of blood?”

“I’m gonna _kill_ you,” she said again, teeth gritted into the blanket.

“That’s all right,” he said to her. “But first, you gotta tell me.” He slid his fingers back, finding the sensitive nub in her folds, gliding over the soaking heat. 

“Bull—“ she said, fainter.

Feeling her tense up as she got closer and closer to the edge. 

And then stopped.

She gasped out a breath into the blanket, cursing but frazzled now. Her nerves were raw. Iron Bull breathed softly on the back of her neck, nosing her hair out of the way. She fought back the shudder that went up her spine. 

“If it’s someone you hate this much, then that means you loved them first, right?”

“Bull,” she managed, taking in a shaking breath. “Don’t—fucking just--don't…”

He started to stroke her again. Her eyes screwed shut and she fought to keep her breathing steady. He jerked her head by her horn, forcing her to turn her face to the side so he could see one of her eyes. And then, gently, pulling up at her horn. It shifted, moving slightly under the skin—like a tooth does in one’s gums. She cried out, sounding more panicked. 

“No—fucking—Bull—don’t!”

He pushed at her horn, pulling between her thighs. She writhed, forced to move her head with the pressure—as if he might actually attempt to rip the horn out. She breathed, more ragged, body trying to tense up as he worked her aching heat, trying to relax so the brute force wouldn’t tear the skin around her horns. 

She made a small sound, a cry, something angry but also fearful. Something helpless. She was on a razor's edge.

And then he said, “It was your parents, wasn’t it?”

She jerked and he held her, holding his fingers against her and felt her come. Her climax was both exquisite and terrible. She bucked under him, shaking, choking a small cry into the blanket. He let go of her horn and sat up, very gentle when he rolled her over. She was shaking, staring up at him with a raw vulnerability in her face.

Bull stroked her hair away from her face, gentle and soft. “It was them.”

She took a watery-sounding breath. And then nodded. 

He laid down next to her and slowly put an arm around her, giving her plenty of time to back away. She didn’t, shoulders curling inwards. “You are safe with me. No one will ever hurt you like that ever again.”

He felt her tremble a little. “I….I don’t….” she was trying hard to get control of herself. “I don’t hate you,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said, combing his fingers soothingly through her hair. “You didn’t say _katoh_.”

And finally, he felt her curl up into him, burying her eyes in his shoulder.


End file.
